When We're Not Looking
by KatjaLaRoux
Summary: She knew smuggling alcohol during Prohibition was dangerous, but Kate never expected this. An ongoing war. Centuries of family secrets. And a hunt for answers. / "Does it count if I wasn't looking for you?" He grinned. "Sometimes we find the best things when we're not looking." (Lots of OCs. Canon AC lore. Fits in with "A Sly Little Bird.")
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ Welcome to "When We're Not Looking" - an AC story that breaks away from retelling the stories of the games' characters and ventures into a Prohibition-era US. I've tried really hard to keep the story both in line with AC-lore and historically accurate (I'll post any relevant notes/glossary items at the bottom of chapters). If you catch anything that's off, just let me know.

This tale does fit in with my other AC fic, "A Sly Little Bird," but it's not a true sequel. You don't need to read "A Sly Little Bird" to read this one.

And for those of you who aren't excited about OCs you can't see, I've borrowed an idea from some fellow writers and started a tumblr to post pictures. All the important characters will have faces there (katjalaroux dot tumblr).

Cover image by thesassassinscreed dot tumblr.

Without further ado - meet Kate.

* * *

**July 23, 1924, San Diego, CA  
**

Kate shimmied out of her dress and tugged on a pair of men's trousers and a collared shirt. After tucking the shirt in and rolling the sleeves to her elbows, she swapped her cloche hat for a newsboy cap, tucking the ends of her short bob tightly behind her ears. She roughly rubbed her lipstick off with a tissue, shoved her feet into a pair of scuffed work boots, and pulled on a shabby double-breasted vest, buttoning it up. The vest was too big for her slight frame, but it helped disguise her figure. She made sure the gold pendant her mother had given her was tucked away under her shirt, and gave herself an appraising look in the bathroom mirror, frowned when she realized she'd left her earrings in.

"C'mon, Katie! Hurry your skinny ass up!"

"Shut your trap, Peter! I'm almost ready," Kate shouted back.

She dropped the earrings into her purse and pulled out the Colt .25 before tossing the bag onto the counter and slipping the small pistol into her vest pocket. The Remington Derringer she normally kept tucked in her garter got strapped to her ankle. After one last glance in the mirror, she darted out of the restroom and met Peter's glower with one of her own. After a moment, she stuck her tongue out at him and grinned.

"Going to that party the night of a job was a stupid idea," he grumbled at her, shaking his head and heading for the front door.

"We got plenty of time, Peter," Dutch sighed, stubbing out his cigarette and following Peter out. "Anyway," he added, winking at Kate over his shoulder, "I'm pretty sure she only wanted to go so you'd have a chance to talk to Sally Macauley."

"Wha—?" Peter spluttered, his cheeks turning crimson. He turned to Kate who was holding both hands up in feigned innocence and trying not to laugh. "I hate you," he grumbled at her and trudged down the hallway.

"No, you don't," she called after him, jogging to catch up and slipped her arm in his. "And you _did_ get to talk to her, didn't you?"

Peter looked down at his friend, her hazel eyes twinkling up at him. He sighed, "For a few minutes, yeah."

"Then it was a success," Dutch laughed, clapping the other man on the shoulder.

The trio fell silent when they reached the front door of the apartment building. Kate dropped her arm from Peter's, instead tucking her hands into her trouser pockets. It would do no good to walk arm-in-arm with him if she was supposed to be a boy.

The streetcar ride down to the old Stingaree district was also quiet. Kate stood across from her two friends and watched them carefully. Dealing with someone new was tricky, and she could tell Dutch was nervous. Peter was, too, but only because he hated doing deals in that part of the city, convinced the notorious raids on brothels and gambling halls from a decade before were still going on. Kate wasn't usually nervous about these late night deals, but tonight, watching Dutch's fingers constantly tapping on his thigh and Peter chewing his thumbnail, even she was feeling uneasy.

Kate and Peter had been friends since they were in primary school. In 1907, when a seven year old Peter with his mop of brown curls called six year old Kate a shrimp, she punched him in the stomach. And when Jacob, the neighborhood bully, laughed at Peter getting thumped by a girl half his size, Kate had kicked _him_ in the groin. And Peter and Kate had been inseparable ever since.

They met Dutch a few years later when he got kicked out of the Army Navy Academy and started at San Diego High School during Kate's first year there. Dutch, not realizing the two were friends, witnessed Peter pushing Kate into some bushes on the walk home from school and stepped in to defend the smaller girl. Dutch had squared off with Peter, ready to fight him, when Kate starting hooting with laughter from the bushes. He had watched, bewildered, as she brushed herself off, called him her knight in shining armor, and demanded he be her friend.

They moved on from playing stickball and soccer in the streets to storming the dancehalls, but not before watching the Great War tear each of their families apart. The rum-running came later.

When they stepped off the street car at Broadway and 5th, they headed south towards the diner on Market Street.

"So, the plan…" Dutch started. Even though the plan was almost always the same, it had become habit to repeat it all out loud just before splitting up.

"You two meet our new friends, take their money, and give them the directions to the boat and the booze," Kate said, dropping her voice to sound more like the boy she was dressed as.

"And you," Peter nodded at her, "stay on the corner and keep an eye out for coppers."

"And," Dutch smirked at her, "stay away from the bell bottoms and flyboys."

Kate rolled her eyes. "You know I don't flirt on the job."

"_And_," Peter interrupted, "if all goes well…"

"Back to the streetcar," Kate recited.

"If anything goes wrong…" Dutch started.

"Split up and regroup at the theater," Peter answered. When no one else spoke, he added with a grin, "And if anyone is gonna get distracted by a pretty face, it's gonna be you, Dutch. It's always you."

Dutch sniffed, "Well, we can't all carry a torch for Sally Macauley."

Kate swallowed back a laugh at seeing the glare Peter shot at Dutch. Maybe it was time to stop teasing him about the girl. She shook her head.

Just before they reached the corner of 5th and Market, they split up. Kate nodded solemnly to Peter and Dutch and whispered, "Be careful." Both men nodded in return before jogging across the street. She settled into her spot under the streetlamp kitty-corner to the diner where Dutch and Peter were meeting their new customers and pulled the cigarette from behind her ear. She didn't actually smoke, but she always borrowed one from Dutch and lit it to give her something to do while keeping watch on the street corner.

Kate watched Peter and Dutch disappear into the diner. She sighed and leaned up against the lamppost, crossing one foot over the other and surveying the intersection. She spotted the two men they were meeting not two minutes later. Average height, dark suits, bowler hats. Compared to those two, Peter and Dutch were an intimidating pair. Dutch was easily six feet tall and built like a boxer. Peter, despite his baby face, was stocky and solid. She smiled to herself. Her boys would be just fine.

She continued scanning the intersection, making note of a couple of cars parked along the street, including a 4-door Ford like the one Peter had been talking about buying just the other day. There was also a small group of sailors ambling towards the harbor. Nothing out of the ordinary. She flicked some ash from her cigarette. And stiffened when she noticed another figure across the street from her. She hadn't seen him there when she first settled into her spot. She cocked her head to one side and watched him for a minute. Like her, he seemed to be waiting for something, leaning against the wall. It wouldn't be all that unusual in this part of town, but he was wearing a strange coat with a hood. Not exactly the height of fashion these days.

Kate glanced back at the diner, looking for signs of her friends wrapping up their conversation. Seeing nothing, she turned back to the strange man only to find him watching her. She couldn't see his face under the hood, but she could _feel_ him looking at her. She frowned and stubbed out her cigarette on the bottom of her boot, stepping back from the lamppost and into the shadow of the building. He didn't budge.

"Come on, boys," she muttered under her breath. "I got a creep out here with me."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing she had another cigarette. But Dutch and Peter really should be done any minute now. She tugged at her cap and pushed her hair behind her ears. The figure across the street was still watching her, even though she was pretty sure she was hidden in the shadow. Both he and she jerked their heads in the direction of a group of men who stepped out of the drugstore on the other corner. Kate frowned again. Ferris & Ferris Drug should have closed hours ago.

A telling shiver ran up her spine. Patting her vest pocket, just to reassure herself that her pistol was there, she watched the three men cross Market towards the diner. Just as they stepped into the street, Dutch and Peter stepped out of the diner, laughing. Kate shot another glance at the other man and realized he was watching the group from the drugstore now, too. And he was no longer leaning casually against anything but standing upright and tense. She looked back to Peter and Dutch, stepping out of the shadow to catch their attention. And just as they both looked her way, the three men from the drugstore started at a full run.

All Kate could do was scream. Peter and Dutch both spun and reached for their own guns, but the men from the drugstore already had theirs out. Two opened fire on her friends, not even bothering to aim but shooting as they ran at them. The third sprinted for one of the cars. Kate pulled her own pistol and ran, her body torn between chasing down the attackers and running to Peter and Dutch. They had both fallen to the ground, and one of the attackers ripped a small satchel from Peter's hands before kicking him and heading for the 4-door Ford. From the middle of the intersection, Kate fired at the men as they stumbled into the Ford, but her instinct to run to her friends won out and the car sped off.

She fell to her knees next to her friends. Peter was laying face down, blood rapidly pooling around him. She didn't even have to touch him to know he was dead. She could feel it in her chest. But Dutch was crouched, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other futilely trying to turn Peter's body over.

"No, no, no," Kate muttered, reaching for Dutch. He bellowed incoherently and pushed her away, tugging again at Peter's body. She looked back across the street, hoping the strange man who had been watching her would come and help, but he had disappeared. And the cowards in the diner were still hiding.

"Oh god, Dutch. Dutch, look at me." She grabbed Dutch's arm and yanked him away from Peter. Unable to hold himself up anymore, he collapsed into her. She put a shaky hand to his face. "Hang on, Dutch," she whispered. "You'll be okay. Just hang on."

He looked up at her for just a moment, mouthing something. She knew it was his native language, something she wouldn't be able to understand even if she could hear him. When he went limp, his head lolling against her thigh, the feral noise that came from deep in her chest echoed across the empty intersection.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ some slang/historical terms...

rum-running = smuggling alcohol via water (in san diego, it was common for boats to bring booze from up the coast from mexico)

the Great War = what we now call World War I

bell bottoms and flyboys = sailors and aviators, respectively

anything else...just ask!


	2. Chapter 2

**July 25, 1924, San Diego, CA  
**

Kate hadn't slept in two days. She hadn't left the hospital waiting room in two days. She had lied through her teeth to the police when they questioned her about the shooting. Wrong place, wrong time, she told them. Just out for a slice of pie, she said. Her grandmother watched from a nearby chair, her face expressionless. When the cops asked her why she was dressed as a boy, she shrugged and said she didn't like getting harassed by the sailors. Neither officer seemed to believe her. She didn't care.

When they left, she slumped into the chair next to her grandmother.

"What really happened, Katherine?" She asked calmly, quietly.

"I killed Peter, Nana. That's what really happened." She stared down at her hands, clenching them into fists them flexing her fingers and repeating the process. "I might have killed Dutch, too."

"Look at me, Katherine."

Kate closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning and looking at Nana. And telling her what really happened. Her grandmother listened intently, her face giving nothing away. And when Kate was done with the story, she closed her eyes again and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Nana."

"What you were doing was dangerous. Illegal and dangerous. Maybe even stupid. But this was not your fault, dear." The older woman sighed and placed her hand on Kate's cheek. "The blame is not yours."

Kate nodded, not sure that she believed those words but grateful that Nana wasn't angry at her. Or, at least, was keeping her anger to herself for now. She looked back at the doors, the doors that Dutch was on the other side of.

"Dutch will make it," she stated. "He has to."

"He's tough," Nana agreed quietly.

Kate stood and resumed her pacing, her mind racing. She was running through scenarios, what she could have done differently, what she should have done, what she was going to do next. But Nana interrupted her thoughts.

"Katherine, why didn't you tell the police about the other man you saw?"

Kate paused mid-step and frowned.

"I…I guess I didn't think it mattered." She turned back to Nana, who had arched one eyebrow at her. "I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure he had nothing to do with it."

"Hm," Nana nodded. "Tell me again about him."

Kate sighed and dug her hands in her pockets. "He was just standing on the corner, leaning against the wall." She shrugged. "He was watching me, which was creepy. But that's all. And he bolted the second he heard gunshots."

Nana titled her head to one side. "You said he was wearing some kind of hood?"

Kate nodded, shrugged. She wasn't interested in discussing the stranger's poor fashion choices. Nana made a noncommittal noise, a small hum at the back of her throat, and her eyes drifted up towards the ceiling. It was a look Kate was familiar with. When she was little, she used to ask what she was daydreaming about, but Nana always just smiled and said it was an old woman's thoughts. Kate shook her head and went back to pacing.

But just as she turned back towards the doors, the doctor came out.

"Miss Barrowman?"

Kate froze, her voice abandoning her. She felt her grandmother stand and step to her side.

"Mr. Ooijer is out of surgery. It will be a tough recovery, but he'll be fine."

Kate ignored the butchering of her friend's last name and asked, "Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded. "He's awake. Follow me."

Kate and her grandmother followed the doctor through the double doors and down a long hallway. Nana mimicked the doctor's pronunciation of Dutch's name under breath as they turned a corner. Of course Nana would be cracking jokes in a hospital. But it was a needed ease of tension, and Kate had to choke back a laugh.

That little bit of levity seeped out of her when she saw Dutch lying in that hospital bed. His butter-blonde hair, normally parted in the middle and smoothed back with gel, was tangled and hanging over his forehead, and his skin was even paler than usual—except where a deep bruise had bloomed across one cheek. Kate hesitated at the doorway until Dutch turned his head towards her and smiled weakly. She tried to return the smile before crossing the room and sinking into the chair next to the bed.

Kate sat at Dutch's side, holding his hand and filling in what he didn't remember from that night. He stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Nana watched silently from the corner.

"I'm sorry, Dutch. If I'd seen those men sooner, if I'd fired at them—"

"No, Katie," his voice was hoarse. "You didn't…not your fault." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Peter…_verdomme…_"

Kate rested her forehead against their joined hands and closed her eyes.

"I'm going to find the bastards who did this," she whispered. "I'm going to find them."

She felt Dutch squeeze her hand. But she didn't see her grandmother frowning from the corner behind her.

* * *

**August 21, 1924, San Diego, CA  
**

"I don't know, Katie," Dutch frowned at her from across the kitchen table. "I've been shot once. I'm not keen on experiencing that again."

Dutch had moved out of the apartment he and Peter had been sharing and moved into the house with Nana and Kate. And Kate had spent weeks tracking down the men who had killed Peter. While he sat around recovering from his injuries and playing rummy with Nana, Kate was either working at the library or dressed as a boy and watching the front door of the card room where Peter had first met the two men that led them to that horrible night. When she finally spotted one, she'd followed him from the card room to a brothel and from the brothel to a meeting of the local Anti-Saloon League.

"Those bastards set us up, Dutch," Kate hissed. "They had no intention of buying our hooch. They're Anti-Saloon League. They _planned_ this."

Dutch was shaking his head.

"Fine." Kate threw her hands up. "Fine. I'll go alone."

Dutch shouted after her, but she ignored him, knowing he was still slow from his injuries and couldn't follow fast enough. When Nana appeared in the hallway, a look of confusion and concern on her face, Kate just brushed past her, shouting over her shoulder, "I'm doing this for Peter!"

She didn't take the streetcar, deciding to use the long walk to the card room as a chance to cool off. But the bitterness and anger had been crawling under her skin for nearly a month. It felt like a permanent fixture in her body. By the time she reached the card room, she was no calmer than when she'd stormed out of the house. She clenched her fists deep inside the pockets of her trousers, glaring at the door of card room from across the street. Her Derringer was at her ankle, her pocket Colt in her vest, and Dutch's larger revolver tucked in the waistband of her trousers.

The problem was that Kate had no plan. Threaten the man to get information on where the others are? Follow him again? Shoot and run? She didn't have a chance to figure it out. The man she'd been following stepped out of the card room only a minute after she's arrived on the corner. Without thinking, she jogged across the street towards him, pulling the revolver from her waistband.

She had surprise on her side. With one shove, she was able to knock him off balance and up against the wall. She pushed one shoulder to the wall with one hand and held the revolver to his throat.

"You owe me some money," she growled. "And the life of my best friend."

The man stared down at her, jaw slack and eyes wide. He shook his head slightly.

"I d-don't know n-nothing," he stammered. Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

"Sure you do, bluenose. Tell me whose idea it was to take me and my boys down?"

If Kate were thinking clearly, she would have realized that, even though the man she had pinned to the wall wasn't particularly tall or well-built, he was still taller and heavier than her. She also would have realized that she had a gun to the man's throat in broad daylight. But Kate wasn't thinking clearly. She was thinking about Peter.

"I c-can't—they'll k-kill me."

"Wrong answer, buddy." Kate pulled the hammer back on the revolver.

The man squeezed his eyes shut. "N-no. Stop. P-please. I have a f-famliy."

"So did Peter," she hissed. "Tell me what I want to know, and you can go."

"C-Calde-Caldecott. His name is C-Caldecott." He tried to shake his head. "B-but you'll never g-get to him. He-He's a T-Templar. He's g-got—"

"I don't give a damn _what_ he is," Kate pushed the barrel of the gun further into his throat. "Tell me where I can find him."

"Hotel D-del C-Coronado. Just—p-please—"

Kate didn't wait to hear the man beg. She had what she needed. Flashing him a savage grin, she dropped the gun and took a step back.

"Scram. Before I change my mind."

And the man took off down F street at a sprint. Kate didn't wait for him to disappear from sight. She took off in the opposite direction, her adrenaline and triumph carrying her feet towards more familiar territory. When she reached the edge of Balboa Park, she slowed to a walk and ducked into the Botanical Building to catch her breath.

"That was foolish."

Kate yelped and spun in the direction of the voice that appeared at her ear. Her eyes went wide when she found herself face-to-face with the man in the hood. She reached for the pistol in her vest pocket, but he stopped her, holding both his hands out in front of him.

"I am not going to harm you. Just warn you."

She dropped her hands to her side and blinked at him. He was maybe six inches taller than her. She couldn't see his eyes in the shadow of his dark hood, just an angular jaw and the grim line of his mouth.

"Warn me about what?" Her voice came out much shakier than she would have liked.

"You are meddling in dangerous affairs, boy. Do not go after Caldecott."

Kate knew she was dressed as a boy, but that didn't mean she liked being called one. She lifted her chin.

"He killed my friend." This time, her voice was level, clear.

He shook his head, frowning. "Revenge does not cure grief."

"You don't know me," she sneered.

"I do not," he conceded calmly. "But I know grief. And I know that you cannot reach Caldecott alive."

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't underestim—"

He suddenly took a step forward, causing Kate to swallow her words.

"Do not go after Caldecott," he repeated. Kate heard it as an order this time, not just a warning.

She opened her mouth to argue but didn't even get one syllable out before the man spoke again.

"He will die. But not at your hand, boy." He turned on his heel and headed for the door only to pause a few feet away. He turned his head and, over his shoulder, added quietly, "Two of your shots hit their target the other night. If it helps, you killed one of his men."

And then he was gone.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Thank you for the reviews, Kate and Emily! This is my one wonky chapter that includes a time jump in the middle. Sorry about that—it won't happen again. Also, chapters will get a little longer as the story progresses. And I've got character pics posted at katjalaroux dot tumblr.

Just a couple of slang/language/historical things...

_verdomme_ = damn (in Dutch, because Dutch is, well, Dutch. Don't laugh. It was super common nickname at the time.)

Anti-Saloon League = lead lobbying group behind the temperance movement and prohibition in the US during the early 20th century

bluenose = slang for a prude, someone puritanical


	3. Chapter 3

**September 9, 1924, San Diego, CA**

Kate and Dutch were sitting at Nana's kitchen table, a platter of blueberry muffins in between them. Dutch, as usual, had his nose buried in the sports page. But Kate was staring down at a set of headlines near the bottom of the newspaper's front page.

_Everett Caldecott Slain. Police Investigating Murder of Prohibition Party Leader._

Kate felt lightheaded as she scanned the article. Stabbed twice in the chest. No weapon was found. No witnesses were found. Political motives were suggested.

"The Athletics lost again," Dutch chuckled.

"What?" Kate asked breathlessly, not looking up from the paper.

Dutch frowned at her. "You looked like you've seen a ghost, Katie."

Kate lifted her head and looked across the table at Dutch. She hadn't told him about that day, about finding out Caldecott's name, about being warned away by the stranger in the hood. She had come home and apologized for running off and gone to take a nap. And things had returned to normal. Or, at least, close to it.

They hadn't spoken much about Peter since the funeral his mother had forbidden them both from attending. When they heard that news, Nana had cursed Peter's mother with a ferocity Kate hadn't seen since her own mother left for France to "do her part" for the war.

Slowly, Kate shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

"No, it's nothing. Just a murder. It…caught my attention is all." She forced a smile.

"Well," Dutch said, plucking a blueberry muffin from the platter and sticking the top half in his mouth. "Tha's m're 'xcitin' th'n 'nother Pfilly losh."

"Mind your manners at my table, Jeroen Ooijer," Nana snapped from the kitchen doorway.

Kate giggled as Dutch nearly choked on the muffin. "Sorry, Nana," he grinned sheepishly at her.

"What's this about a murder now?" Nana asked, leaning over Kate's shoulder to read the headline. "Hm," she shook her head. "Can't say we aren't better off without the likes of him making decisions."

Kate nodded silently.

With a glance at the kitchen clock, Dutch stood abruptly. "Damn. I better scram or Clara'll kill me."

Nana settled into the seat Dutch vacated with an amused shake of her head. But her smile dropped when she saw Kate's face.

"Katherine? What is it?"

"What?" Kate blinked at Nana before registering the question. "Oh. It's nothing."

Nana arched an eyebrow. "You're not jealous that Dutch is on _another_ date with that Clara girl, are you?"

"No," Kate snorted. "No. Definitely not."

"Hm." Nana's arched eyebrow didn't drop. Kate just shook her head.

"No, Nana. I promise, I'm not jealous of _any_ girl Dutch dates."

"Alright," Nana chuckled. "If you say so."

Kate rolled her eyes. She didn't need to tell her grandmother that she and Dutch had already tested those waters. Unsuccessfully. Or, at least, awkwardly, drunkenly, and only once. Not even Peter knew about that night. She glanced back down at the newspaper in front of her and frowned.

"So what is it that's bothering you?" Nana pressed.

Kate bit her lip. Hers was a family of secrets. She didn't know who her father was, and as far as she knew, her mother had never known her father either. Kate grew up thinking her mother worked as a secretary, but she worked such odd hours, Kate suspected that was a lie. Running off to France and not coming back only confirmed that suspicion. Kate had continued the tradition of lies when she started the rum-running with Peter and Dutch. But after what happened, after losing Peter the way she had and nearly losing Dutch, after the way Nana just _accepted_ the news without judgment, Kate had begun to regret not having a closer relationship with the only real family she had.

"Nana," she started slowly, "Do you remember that day I ran out of here, saying I was going to get revenge for Peter?"

Nana narrowed her eyes. "What did you do, Katherine?"

"Nothing!" Kate shook her head quickly. "Nothing. I—well, I was going to, but…" She sighed. She wasn't prepared for _that_ reaction. She started over. "I found one of the men and threatened him. He told me that this Caldecott fellow was the one behind it all." Kate shuddered at the memory. Looking back, she was amazed at how _coldblooded_ she'd been in that moment.

"But you didn't do this," Nana said, gesturing at the paper.

"No," Kate shook her head. "But I know who did." And she told her grandmother about the man in the hood following her to the Botanical Building in the park. She repeated his warning to stay away from Caldecott. When she was done, Nana was frowning.

"He shouldn't have told you that," Nana shook her head.

"What?" Kate raised an eyebrow, mimicking the expression Nana had earlier.

"He all but told you he was going to kill Caldecott. What was to stop you from turning him in?"

Kate shrugged. "I don't think I could even tell you what he looked like, thanks to that damn hood."

Nana sighed, "It was still risky."

Kate glanced down at the newspaper again. "I didn't realize he was a politician," she said, tapping her fingers against the paper. She looked back up at her grandmother and cocked her head to one side. "Nana, have you ever heard of a Templar?"

For a moment, Nana looked completely shocked, but the expression disappeared so quickly, Kate wasn't sure she'd really seen it.

"Where did you hear about Templars?" Nana asked, her voice as calm as ever.

"Caldecott. The man I threatened said that I'd never get to Caldecott because he was Templar." Kate tapped the paper again in thought. "I just thought it was another club, like the Anti-Saloon League at first, but…the man in the hood said I wouldn't be able to reach him alive." She shook her head. "It's probably nothing, but I just…I don't know. Maybe I'll look it up at work tomorrow."

Nana studied Kate's face for a long time before shaking her head. "Your mother is going to roll over in her grave when I tell you this, but I know you. And I know you're going to start snooping around, even if I tell you not to." Nana chuckled, "I'm surprised you followed a stranger's directions to stay out of it. You usually do the opposite of what you're told."

"I'm not that bad," Kate rolled her eyes. "Plus, he _was_ a bit frightening."

Nana let out a sigh and placed both hands on the table in front of her, absently smoothing the tablecloth while she gazed at the ceiling and gathered her thoughts. Kate watched her intently, as though she could see the gears turning in her grandmother's head, working her way to some decision.

"What I'm about to tell you is a secret. The kind of secret that people can lose their lives over," Nana gestured lightly at the newspaper. Kate glanced down at the headline again and back up at Nana. She nodded solemnly, taken aback at the seriousness of Nana's tone.

"You can't breathe a word of it to anyone," Nana said. Kate nodded again. "Not even Dutch."

"Not even Dutch," Kate repeated, nodding for a third time.

Nana nodded once in acknowledgement of the promise made and began.

"The Templars are an old, old organization. They claim a vision of peace and order through discipline, but ultimately the seek control." Nana said the word "control" like it was coated in poison. "They wiggle themselves into politics and big business. I'm not surprised to hear that they're involved in the Prohibition Party. Probably responsible for the Volstead Act, too." Nana shook her head then gestured again at the newspaper under Kate's fingers. "Your friend was right. If Caldecott was a Templar, you probably wouldn't have been able to get to him."

Kate's mind was a flurry of questions. About the Templars. About how Nana knew about them. About her mother. About the man in the hood. But Nana continued before she could decide what to ask first.

"They have enemies though. Another ancient order that has spent centuries fighting against the Templars. Fighting for freedom." Nana paused and gave Kate a faint smile. "Your friend in the hood is a part of that Order." She paused again. This time hesitating ever so briefly before quietly adding, "So was your mother. So was I. And my mother before me."

Those words hung heavy in the air between them. Kate blinked at her grandmother, and, after a moment of stillness, all of her questions began tumbling out.

"You _fought_ against Templars? _Mom_ fought against Templars? You're part of some...some _ancient,_ secret order? How does that—I don't even—that man killed Caldecott because of this—did you—did mom—" Kate snapped her mouth shut. Shook her head. And whispered, "Is that how mom died?"

Nana dropped her gaze to the table. "Your mother died a hero, dear, fighting for something she believed in."

Nana looked up sharply when Kate snorted. She narrowed her eyes.

"Don't you dare belittle her sacrifice," Nana warned. Then softening her tone, said, "Your mother wanted you to live a normal life."

"Fat lot of good that did." But there was more sorrow than venom in Kate's voice.

"Curse of the Barrowman women," Nana sighed. Kate tilted her head at the comment, and Nana chuckled. "Oh, yes. Not a one of us married, not a one. Lived long enough to have a child, always another girl, and die for the cause. Since as far back as the Revolutionary War. Maybe even earlier. Your mother was convinced we were cursed, that we always had to choose between fighting the Templars or falling in love and having a normal life." Nana reached across the table and put her hand over Kate's. "She thought if she kept this all a secret, you would break the curse."

"Except I've ended up in the middle of it anyway," Kate frowned.

Nana gave her hand a squeeze and sat back in her chair. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, and she made a small hum in the back of her throat. Kate let her think while she let her own thoughts wander. Memories of her mother leaving and returning at odd hours, taking trips with her "boss" to Los Angeles or Phoenix or into Mexico. Her whole perception of her mother had shifted, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. All of the secrets. All of the lies. But Nana had told them, too. It was Nana's life, too. And _her_ mother's.

"Mom though we were cursed?" Kate asked suddenly.

"Ah," Nana smiled for the first time. "There is a story told that one of the first Barrowman women to join the Order was given an artifact of some sort to keep safe. Some say she lost it, some say she didn't trust her Mentor and kept its location secret, and some say she kept it for herself. Your mother believed that last one and that we were cursed because of it."

"What do you believe?"

"I believe the story my mother told me as a little girl. No Barrowman woman would be so careless as to lose something of importance, and no Barrowman woman would seek anything other than freedom. Even you, Katherine," Nana chuckled. "No matter how misguided your little smuggling schemes may have been, you were fighting for freedom, in a sense. You were fighting on the side of the Assassin Order without realizing it. It's in our blood."

"The Assassin Order," Kate repeated, feeling something tug at her chest at the words, a vague memory from her childhood that she couldn't quite hold on to.

"Katherine," Nana said, turning somber once again. "If you want to know more about this, about the Order, about your mother, about your family, I can put you in touch with an old…friend." Kate started to nod, but Nana held up a hand. "You must understand that if you start this, you won't be able to undo it. There is a reason your mother wanted to protect you from this life. You have already seen how dangerous it can be. It may be different now, things may be easier with automobiles and telephones and all of this technology we didn't have in my day. But it can be a lonely life. A short life."

"Would I have to leave Dutch behind? And you?"

"Perhaps," Nana nodded. "You could never tell Dutch, that much I know."

"Oh." Kate's shoulders slumped. As much as she wanted to know more about her mother's life, as much as she yearned for the truth, she wasn't ready to lose the only family she had. Not Nana. And not Dutch.


	4. Chapter 4

**October 13, 1924, San Diego, CA**

Maksim was sitting on the roof, his legs stretched out in front of him, eating an apple. He had taken off his coat and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. The hot, dry winds blowing in from the desert were finally starting to die down, but it was still warmer than usual for October. Most people called them Santa Ana winds, but O'Malley called them devil winds. Maksim was inclined to agree. They made everyone around the Bureau irritable, O'Malley especially. Mostly, they just made Maksim miss San Francisco.

He finished his apple and stood, stretching his arms above his head and twisting until his back gave a satisfying pop. He repeated the process in the other direction and got ready to toss the apple core down to the garbage bin below when he spotted a young girl on the sidewalk. Curious, he stepped closer to the roof's edge and crouched down to watch her.

North Park was a busy, busy neighborhood, especially now that the theater had opened up, but Landis Street was a couple blocks away from the theater and the bulk of the shops and businesses. Someone loitering on the residential street was a little unusual. Walking by, yes. But standing and staring up at the front door of the Bureau building, no. Maksim watched the girl as she looked around then down at something in her hand and back up at the building. He frowned. Unusual.

He left the apple core next to his coat and swiftly climbed down the trellis on the side of the building, dropping silently onto the pavement below. Feigning a casual stroll with his hands in his pockets, he walked around the corner to investigate what the girl was up to.

"Are you lost?"

He watched in amusement as the girl yelped and spun towards him. He noticed three things about her in that moment. The first was that she reached for her ribcage, almost as if expecting something to be there, quickly dropping her hand when it came up empty. It was a curious reaction, he thought. The second thing he noticed was that, once she spotted him and smiled politely, she had one tooth that was slightly crooked and a slight dimple in the center of her chin. And the third was that she was not a young girl after all, but a young woman, similar in age to himself. As she laughed nervously at her own reaction, he quickly catalogued other details about the woman: dark hair tucked under a bell-shaped hat, a dress the color of apricots, hazel eyes darting across his own facial features.

"I suppose I am."

He glanced down at her hand, holding a small scrap of paper. "Do you have an address there?"

"Oh," she blinked down at the paper. "Yes. This is it," she nodded at the building in front of her.

Maksim cocked his head to one side. She was standing in front of the Bureau, with the Bureau's address in her hand, and she seemed nervous. Normally, this would be cause for alarm, and, while he knew there were women Templars, women who were deceptively ruthless and deadly, this woman seemed so small, so harmless.

He found himself smiling at her.

"So you're not lost?"

"No," she said slowly, tugging on the brim of her hat. "I suppose lost isn't the right word for it."

"Are you looking for someone in particular? Perhaps I can help."

"Yes, I…" She glanced down at the paper again. "Donald O'Malley."

Maksim stiffened at the Master Assassin's name, his smile fading quickly. She must have noticed his reaction.

"You know him. Right." She looked down at the paper again. "I'm supposed to say…'Nothing is true.'" She said the last like a question and looked back up at him.

"What is your business with him?" Maksim asked curtly, ignoring her uncertainty.

She blinked at him before lifting her chin and replying, "Why should I tell you?"

"Because I will not let you in to see if him if you do not."

"You won't '_let'_ me?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"No." He took a step, putting himself between her and the door for emphasis. Her nervous behavior had completely switched to something more defensive, and that made his skin on the back of his neck prickle.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and something about the woman suddenly felt very familiar. He held her gaze while he tried to place where he might have seen her before. Before he found an answer, she conceded and dropped her gaze.

"I'm looking for information about my mother," she said quietly. "She was an Assassin."

On noticing her use of past tense, Maksim backed off a bit, letting his shoulders relax. He didn't know of many Assassins with children who weren't also part of the Order, but it wasn't unheard of. He wondered if he had known her mother. With a small nod, gestured to the door.

He watched her nod in return and walk past him towards the door, tucking the scrap of paper into her purse. He quickened his pace to reach the front door before her, holding it open to let her in.

"Who should I tell him is here?" He asked quietly once they were both in the dark foyer.

"Margaret Barrowman's daughter, Katherine." She tugged on her hat again, shifting it slightly on her head.

Maksim nodded once more and strode down the hall to O'Malley's office.

The door was open, but, out of respect, he paused just outside and rapped his knuckles on the door frame.

The bald man looked up from the stack of papers in front of him.

"What is it?" He frowned.

Maksim took one step into the office, folded his hands behind his back and bowed his head.

"You have a visitor, sir."

"A visitor?" O'Malley narrowed his eyes. "I'm not expecting anyone."

"She says she is here about her mother, Margaret Barrowman. Her name is Katherine."

"Shit," O'Malley hissed, standing abruptly and rubbing a hand over the top of his bald head. He jerked his head back up to Maksim. "She's here now? How did she find us?"

"I do not know." Maksim shrugged one shoulder. "She had your name and the address. And knows the Creed. Someone must have sent her."

"Probably her grandmother," O'Malley sighed. "I should have known she'd show up eventually." He shook his head and said, "Send her back."

Maksim bowed his head once more and returned to the foyer where the woman, Katherine, was staring up at a painting of Venice. He cleared his throat, the sudden sound causing her to jump.

"Cripes," she sighed, shaking her head. "You're sneaky."

Maksim resisted the urge to smirk at the comment, instead gesturing her to follow him and leading her back to O'Malley's office. He stood at the doorway and watched O'Malley greet her.

"Donald O'Malley," he said gruffly, holding his hand out. "You must be Katherine?"

"Kate is fine," she answered, shaking his hand. O'Malley stared her just a moment before letting out a bark of laughter.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, girl," he shook his head. "You're the spittin' image of your mother."

"I'll take that as a compliment, sir," the woman replied, amusement clear in her voice.

O'Malley glanced up at Maksim and nodded. Maksim recognized the dismissal for what it was and made his way back outside. He needed to get the apple core and his coat from the roof before someone else found them.

Once he'd disposed of the core and buttoned his coat up again, he wandered into the library and pulled out one of the recent record books. He was curious about this woman and her mother. It took him a few minutes to find the name Barrowman in the book. Katherine's name was listed as her only child, born in 1901. And apparently Katherine's mother had been killed while on a mission in Europe. He frowned. That was years ago. Almost ten years ago.

He wondered what had taken the woman so long to come looking for answers. Perhaps she didn't want to know anything until recently. Or maybe she just couldn't find O'Malley until now. She could have also been completely unaware of her mother's occupation. She did seem unsure of the Creed when she gave him the first part of it. Maksim, having trained by his father's side since he was six, couldn't imagine what it must be like to grow up not knowing what your parents did.

He was startled out of his thoughts when he heard voices in the hallway. He quickly shoved the book back on the shelf and turned to head for the training room. He spotted O'Malley escorting Katherine to the front door and paused to let them pass.

"I'm sorry I can't do more for you, Kate," O'Malley said.

"I understand," she replied. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

O'Malley nodded and shook her hand. She glanced over at Maksim and offered him a small smile. He nodded in return, wondering again why she seemed familiar.

When O'Malley closed the door behind her, he turned to Maksim and let out a sigh.

"That was painful," the bald man said, shaking his head.

Maksim sensed that his Mentor would have more to say and followed him back to his office, settling in the chair Katherine had likely just vacated. O'Malley stopped in front of the window and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before speaking again. Maksim just waited.

"That girl's mother, Mags we called her, she was a real corker." O'Malley shook his head, grinning at his own memories. "Came up the ranks with her myself. She could shoot a squirrel from a quarter mile nine times out of ten, and ten was usually a misfire. Had a mean right hook, too."

"She died in the war?" Maksim asked, cocking his head to one side.

"You look up the record while we were in here chattin'?"

Maksim nodded, and O'Malley took another drag and sat heavily in his desk chair.

"Mags was part of the team sent to take out a few of key players over there, in the early days of the war. One of the Bulgarians, Zhostov I think, was her last target." He shook his head again, frowning. "Got her man but didn't make it out."

"Was that what she wanted to know?"

"Not exactly, no." O'Malley rubbed his free hand over his head. "You ever heard of the Barrowman women, Maksim?"

"Not until today."

O'Malley grunted and leaned back in his chair, blowing a puff of smoke at the ceiling. "The story is that one of their ancestors, back in the 18th century or so, was given a Piece of Eden to keep safe. Some say she lost it, some say she hid it. No one really knows for sure. But the Templars tried to track it down a few times. Came after Mags back when she was pregnant with the girl. Mags went on a bloomin' rampage after that." O'Malley sighed. "Guess that's when she decided she wasn't going to let the girl follow the family line. Didn't tell her a lick about the Order."

"So she wants to know about the Order?" Maksim guessed again at the purpose of the woman's visit.

O'Malley nodded. "And about her family. Which is really the same thing. At least five generations of Barrowman women accordin' to the story, maybe more. But those records were stolen years ago. Damn Templars chasing a bloomin' artifact that probably doesn't exist."

O'Malley sat up straight then, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on his desk, and leveled his gaze at Maksim, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"If that girl is anything like her mother, she's going to dig into this. Even though I just told her there's nothing to find."

Maksim frowned. "You think she will cause trouble?"

"It's in their blood," O'Malley snorted. "Which is why I want you to keep an eye on her."

Maksim's frown deepened when he realized what he'd just walked into. But O'Malley held up a hand, preventing him from arguing. "I don't believe that cock and bull about a missin' artifact connected to the family, but Mags did and the Templars did. You tail her for a few days, and we'll see if she gets up to anything."

"Of course," Maksim agreed, biting back his complaints about having to play nanny for some misguided girl.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Maksim's and O'Malley's pictures are up on my tumblr (katjalaroux).

And to Reviewer Kate who I can't respond to via PM: Thank you, thank you! I'm so glad someone's enjoying the story. I should be able to keep updating twice a week. Keep letting me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**October 14, 1924, San Diego, CA**

Kate let out a long sigh and let herself sag into the seat of the street car. She hadn't slept well the night before, after her meeting with Donald O'Malley. On top of that, her boss had been in a mood, snapping at her all day long for every little thing. Normally, Kate liked her job at the library, except for when Mr. Cotter was in a mood. It had taken every ounce of will she had to not snap back at him.

Ten minutes later, she was walking up 27th, humming "After You've Gone" to herself, and wondering if Dutch would want to go dancing. She needed something to take her mind off of her mother's lies and the family's mysteries.

She had poked around the library while she was on her lunch break and hadn't found anything useful. And she realized that if she really wanted answers, if she really wanted to find out the truth about her family, she would have to talk to Nana, which meant admitting to Nana that she had gone to the O'Malley in the first place. The thought made her stomach churn. She had told Nana she wouldn't, that she didn't want to risk losing her family, and now she couldn't help but feel that changing her mind was a betrayal.

Her only other option was to go to Philadelphia herself. Of course, she'd have to talk to Nana about a trip like that anyway.

Dancing with Dutch to distract herself seemed like a much better plan. And then she remembered that he had another date with Clara. She stopped mid-step and swore under breath before slowly continuing her walk home.

"Nana?" Kate called as she closed the front door behind her.

"In here." Nana's voice came from the kitchen.

Kate found her grandmother standing at the counter, sifting flour into a large mixing bowl.

"Something smells divine," Kate said, moving to peek into the oven. Just as her hand reached the oven's handle, Nana snapped at her.

"Don't you open that door, Katherine Louise."

Kate jerked upright and held her hands up, palms out. Nana hadn't even looked up from her mixing bowl. Kate shook her head and sat at the kitchen table.

"What are you making?"

"Almond loaf. And that's curried lamb in the oven," Nana said as she set down the sifter and reached for a smaller bowl, carefully pouring what looked like egg whites into the mixing bowl.

"Good thing Dutch is out tonight. He hates curried anything," Kate grinned.

"That's exactly why I'm making it tonight," Nana chuckled, slowly stirring the contents of her bowl.

"Anything I can do to help?" Kate offered.

"I need that loaf pan greased and floured, if you don't mind."

Kate grabbed the loaf pan and reached for the tub of oleo. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the kitchen were Nana mixing ingredients and Kate tapping the sides of the loaf pan to spread the flour over the edges. She set the pan on the counter just as Nana finished stirring in the almonds. Kate watched in silence, biting her lip, as Nana poured the batter in. When Nana set the empty bowl in the sink, she turned to Kate and arched an eyebrow.

"What's bothering you, dear?"

Kate blinked. "What? Nothing."

"You're chewing on your lip. And you've been awfully quiet the last two days. Both signs that you have something on your mind."

Kate slumped back into the kitchen chair. She tapped her fingers on the table for a moment before sighing. She needed tell Nana.

"I met Donald O'Malley yesterday," she said, not looking up at her grandmother.

"I thought as much." Nana wiped her hands on her apron and sat in the chair across from her. "What did he tell you?"

Kate shifted forward in her seat, resting her elbows on the table and folding her hands in front of her.

"Not much, really." Kate glanced over at the kitchen window, a cool breeze fluttering the curtains, and sighed again. "He said he knew mom. He told me why she went to France, how she died. Everything he said about the Order was essentially the same as what you had already told me."

"Hm," Nana frowned. "And that's it?"

"Well," Kate said slowly. "He said that each Bureau keeps track of the Assassins assigned there. They have mom's name in their records and information about me, but I'm not allowed to see it."

Nana nodded. "They would have my records, too. And my mother's and my grandmother's."

"He didn't tell me that," Kate frowned.

"No," Nana shook her head. "O'Malley wouldn't have. Not unless you asked specifically."

"They were all here?"

Just as Nana was about to answer, the kitchen timer rang. Nana stood and picked up a potholder. As she removed the lamb from the oven and put the almond loaf in its place, she explained.

"My mother died when I was ten, and I was raised here, by the Order. It was a different building then, but I grew up in the Bureau. It's different now, for children and families, but back then there was nowhere else really for me to go. My mother's mother had also died young, and my mother was raised the same way I was." Kate started setting the table while she listened, fascinated by the idea of _growing up_ in a house like the one she had visited today. "My grandmother, Margaret Barrowman, was the one who came out west from Philadelphia. I named your mother for her."

Kate dished up plates of curried lamb while Nana poured two glasses of lemonade. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Kate's mind racing, a plan forming.

"O'Malley mentioned records in Philadelphia," Kate said carefully, wondering if Nana knew they'd been stolen.

"Did he?" Nana frowned. "Well, he and your mother were friends. She must have told him something."

Kate had learned that Nana was a good liar. She had kept all of this a secret her entire life, and Kate hadn't ever suspected a thing. But her gut told her that Nana didn't know anything about those records being stolen. And if that was, true, her plan might just work. She crossed her fingers under the table.

"O'Malley said I should go to Philadelphia, if I wanted to see the other records."

Nana looked up at her, eyebrows high on her forehead.

"Go to Philadelphia? Surely you could just write a letter to the Bureau there."

"He said he didn't think they would send information like that," Kate shrugged, taking a small sip of her lemonade. "Plus, I'd like to see them for myself."

"That's a long trip, Katherine. A week just to get there? Maybe more? Would Mr. Cotter even let you take that much time off?"

"I'm one of his best employees. I think he would be okay with a couple of weeks break," Kate said, though she knew with certainty that she would lose her job if she left.

"And this was O'Malley's suggestion?"

"Yes," Kate lied. Nana made a noncommittal hum and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Kate held her breath. But Nana didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood and began clearing the table. Kate waited and watched her, curious as Nana stared out the kitchen window for a moment.

"Why don't you come around to the front door, young man?"

"Nana?" Kate furrowed her brows.

"I know you're there." Nana said politely to the open window. "Come inside and have some lemonade, and we can discuss what you're doing in my bushes."

At that Kate jumped up and darted to her grandmother's side. Looking out the window, she saw nothing. She turned to her grandmother with a frown.

"Nana, are you feeling—"

Nana let out a huff of air and snapped, "Get your backside in my house right now before I call O'Malley."

Kate stared dumbfounded as a man in a hood emerged from the bushes, head down, and muttered, "Yes, ma'am" before trudging towards the front door.

"Katherine, dear, please let our guest in."

Kate obeyed and went to the door, holding it open. The man lowered his hood before stepping inside.

Kate gaped at him. It was the man she'd met at the Bureau, the one who had let her into the house. And, in the coat with the hood, she realized he was the same man who had warned her away from Caldecott all those weeks ago. The same one who was watching her the night Peter was killed.

He glanced at Kate, but his dark eyes quickly darted behind her. Kate turned to see Nana standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across her chest.

"My apologies, Ms. Barrowman," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Your apologies are accepted," Nana chuckled. "I know you're just doing your job. Would you like some lemonade?" Then Nana tilted her head in Kate's direction. "Close your mouth, dear. It's unladylike."

Kate snapped her mouth shut and tried to ignore the sudden rush of warmth to her cheeks.

The man glanced back at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes then nodded to her grandmother.

"Thank you, Ms. Barrowman. Lemonade would be fine."

"Phoebe is fine," Nana waved a hand dismissively. "Or Nana, like everyone else calls me."

Kate followed the man and her grandmother into the kitchen, still trying to wrap her brain around the situation. Nana just kept chattering away.

"I assume you've been asked to check on my granddaughter after her meeting at the Bureau yesterday?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And were you told that I was part of the Order?" Nana asked, passing him a glass of lemonade.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Kate rolled her eyes and muttered, "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am" under her breath. The man's eyes darted to her and his lips curved in a small frown. But Kate quickly turned away to accept a fresh glass of lemonade from Nana, who either hadn't heard her or was ignoring her. She sat at the kitchen table, watching the man sit next to her. Nana settled back into her seat.

"So, is there something in particular you're looking for? Or is O'Malley just being…cautious?"

Kate could tell "cautious" wasn't what Nana meant at all, but the man didn't seem to notice. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You know I cannot answer that," he said.

Nana chuckled. "Of course. How about you tell me your name instead."

"Maksim Kovalchuk, ma'am."

Nana smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Maksim. As I said, you can call me Phoebe or Nana. And I'm sure you know my granddaughter is Katherine."

"We met yesterday," he nodded politely at Kate.

"And two months ago," Kate scowled. "Just how long _have_ you been spying on me?"

Maksim frowned. "I am not sure what you mean."

"Bullsh—"

"Katherine," Nana snapped. And Kate grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes at Maksim.

"How did we meet before?" His brows were knotted together now.

"Balboa Park Botanical Gardens."

He shook his head, frowning again. Kate suddenly remembered that she had been dressed as a boy that day. He probably didn't realize it was her.

She arched an eyebrow and explained, "You warned me to stay away from Caldecott."

His eyes widened in surprise. "That was—but you are—I thought—"

Nana's laughter interrupted Maksim's stumbling. Kate just rolled her eyes.

"I guess your disguise is a good one, dear," Nana said, still chuckling.

Maksim had composed himself, schooling his features—though Kate could see a hint of color in his cheeks that hadn't been there before. She tossed him a smug grin.

"It does not matter when we met," he said calmly, turning his attention to Nana. "Your granddaughter is lying to you. She was not told to go to Philadelphia."

Kate stiffened. The bastard was ratting her out. Nana arched an eyebrow in her direction, and Kate just shrunk back in her chair.

"I see," Nana said. "And what was she told?"

"Those records were stolen 23 years ago. There is nothing to find there." This time, Maksim was the one with the smug grin. Kate had to resist the urge to kick him under the table.

"Stolen?" Nana asked. Kate frowned at Nana's cold tone and the tension around her eyes.

"Yes," Maksim confirmed. "Around the same time that your daughter was attacked by Templars."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Kate watched Nana carefully, and Nana was studying Maksim. And slowly Nana nodded, a grin creeping across her face.

"Is this why you want to go to Philadelphia, Katherine? You think there's still something there?"

Kate, surprised at her grandmother's sudden shift in mood, could only nod.

"Well then," Nana said, smoothing her hands across the tablecloth, "I suppose you should go and see what you can find."

"Really?" Kate grinned.

Nana tilted her head in Maksim's direction. "And you, young man, should escort her there."

"What?" Maksim spluttered. "She cannot go to—"

"She can," Nana interrupted. "And she will. And you will go with her. And if O'Malley has a problem with this, he can take it up with me. I may be retired, but I believe I still beat him out in seniority."

And before any other arguments could be made, the kitchen timer rang again.

"Who wants a slice of almond loaf?" Nana smiled.

* * *

_**A/N: **_Historical Footnotes!**  
**

"After You've Gone" = 1918 song, music and lyrics by Turner Layton and Henry Creamer, respectively. Kate would probably know the early version Marion Harris recorded, but I posted Bessie Smith's 1927 version to katjalaroux dot tumblr dot com (because I like it better).

oleo = regional/colloquial term for margarine

Almond loaf and curried lamb both came out of a 1921 Good Housekeeping cookbook. Did you know chocolate chip cookies weren't invented until 1930? Yeah...I'm that much of a nerd.


	6. Chapter 6

**October 17, 1924, San Diego, CA**

Dutch held Kate at arm's length, one hand on either shoulder.

"This is insane, Katie. You realize that right? Completely and utterly crackers."

Kate tried to smile at him. "I know, Dutch."

"And you're doing it anyway?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I have to. I need to—"

Her words were stopped when he suddenly pulled her into a crushing hug.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "Figure out who you are, find your family. I don't get it, but I know."

Kate tightened her own grip around his waist and tried to ignore the churning in her gut. Lying to Dutch had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. And no matter how many times Nana reminded her that it was necessary, it never sat right with her.

"She'll be just fine, Dutch," Nana chided from behind them. Dutch reluctantly let her go.

"Stay away from bell bottoms and flyboys, Katie." He grinned at her.

Kate laughed and shook her head. "I'm not on the job this time, Dutch."

"Three weeks?" He asked for the tenth time that morning.

"Three weeks," she nodded.

"And you're sure you don't want us to stick around 'til you get your ticket and get on the train?"

"I'm sure, Dutch," she rolled her eyes. "You didn't even need to wake up so early and come with me. Go home and go back to bed."

"Crackers," he muttered, shaking his head.

Kate rolled her eyes and turned to give Nana a hug.

"Be nice to Maksim," Nana whispered. Then, pulling away, said more clearly, "Send us a telegram when you get settled in Philadelphia, dear."

Kate ignored the first request completely. "I'll send a telegram."

Nana shook her head and hugged her again.

…

Maksim scowled at the scene before him. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be travelling across the country at all, let alone travelling with this woman. He couldn't believe O'Malley had agreed to the plan. Maksim had tried to argue with his Mentor, but O'Malley had only shrugged and reminded him that Phoebe Barrowman was once a Master Assassin and Mentor herself and that if she was going to send her granddaughter on a wild goose chase, he needed to make sure she didn't do anything stupid and compromise the Order.

And now, Maksim was leaning against a column at Santa Fe Depot, watching Katherine say her farewells to her grandmother and a blonde man who he recognized from the night of the shooting. He watched them hug for the second time and wondered if he was her boyfriend. Not that it mattered to Maksim if he was. In three weeks, he would be done with Katherine Barrowman.

Finally, she was walking towards the ticket counter. He sighed and pushed off from the wall, shouldering his duffel bag. He shot a quick glance back at Ms. Barrowman and the blonde man only to catch Ms. Barrowman looking right at him. She gave him a sharp nod and turned to lead the blonde man away from the station. Maksim shook his head. He had no idea how Ms. Barrowman knew he was there. He had no idea how she knew he was eavesdropping from her bushes the other night either. He had never been caught before. When he told O'Malley how he'd been discovered, O'Malley had only laughed. Maksim had expected a lecture at the very least.

He quickened his pace to catch up to Katherine before she reached the ticket counter and fell into step next to her.

…

"I can carry this for you."

Kate yelped as she felt the weight of the suitcase in her left hand disappear. She dropped the hat box from her other hand and whirled to her left only to find Maxim staring down at her.

"Cripes," she sighed, picking up her hat box again. "You keep doing that to me."

"Doing what?"

She glanced up at him, expecting a smirk of some sort, but his expression was completely blank. She shook her head.

"You keep sneaking up on me."

"You should pay closer attention to your surroundings," he shrugged and kept walking.

Kate rolled her eyes and followed him to the ticket counter, stepping up in front of him once they got there.

"One for the California Limited." She beamed at the elderly man behind the counter. She had ridden every route of San Diego's streetcars hundreds of times, but she had never been on a proper train. And she was more than a little excited about buying her first train ticket.

"She means two. And for a bedroom," Maksim leaned in front of her.

"A bedroom?" Kate arched an eyebrow. "You want me to share a bedroom with you?"

"What? No!" Maksim blurted, his cheeks tinged with pink. Kate grinned at his obvious embarrassment. "It is just a compartment. There are two beds," he explained, shaking his head. "And you will appreciate the extra privacy for this long of a trip. Trust me."

"First trip?" The man behind the counter asked with a crooked grin.

"Yes," she sighed. Then, flashing another grin at her new travel partner, she added, "I'm going to meet my fiancé's family back East." And she looped her arm through Maksim's, feeling him stiffen next to her.

The older man chuckled. "Bedroom to Chicago then."

Kate read the list of trains and platforms posted on the wall while Maksim collected their tickets.

"Enjoy your first trip, miss," the older man smiled at her.

"Oh, I will. Thank you," she smiled back.

He chuckled again and turned to Maksim. "And you as well, young man," he added with a wink.

Kate looked up to see Maksim's cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink than before and bit back a grin. He just nodded at the older man. And pulled his arm away from Kate so he could pick up his bag and her suitcase.

…

Maksim ignored Katherine as he walked swiftly towards the train. He had tried to be nice to her, despite his already foul mood, and all she had done was antagonize him. Intentionally. This was going to be a miserable four days. At least when they arrived in Philadelphia, he could pass her off to one of the local Assassins.

They were greeted at the train by a tall and lanky porter. He took the bags from Maksim and led them onto the train, explaining his duties and describing where the various other cars were. Maksim was glad to hear they were two cars away from the dining car. At least it would be quieter. Once at their compartment, the porter set their bags down. Maksim reached over to open the window curtains before turning back to thank the porter. But Kate was already talking to him, shaking his hand.

"Thank you so much, Paul."

The porter, Paul, grinned down at her. "Of course, miss."

"Oh, none of that now," she laughed. "If I'm going to call you Paul, I insist you call me Kate."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, miss. It's the job," Paul shrugged apologetically.

"Oh, well," she sighed dramatically. "I tried. Say, there's not any dancing on this train, is there?"

"I'm afraid not, miss."

"Cripes. Four days and no dancing." She grinned over at Maksim. "I'm going to drive my fiancé crackers."

"There's plenty of it in Chicago, miss. Don't you worry." He chuckled and made his exit.

Maksim watched this exchange with interest. He had travelled by train between San Diego and San Francisco enough to know that porters were generally treated poorly both because of their occupation and the color of their skin. Most people didn't bother speaking to them unless they needed something or had a complaint. And he knew the joke that all porters were named George; learning their real names was nearly unheard of. Katherine had just done both, treating Paul as an equal. He might have admired her kindness towards the porter if she hadn't unnecessarily referred to him as her fiancé. Again.

…

Kate turned around the little compartment and frowned. All she saw was a bench, a chair, and a small table.

"Where are the beds?"

Maksim pointed to the bench. "This folds out. And that," he pointed up at a panel above the window, "folds down. I will take the top one."

"Sounds fine," she shrugged and dropped into the small chair opposite the bench, peering out the window, watching other travelers on the platform.

Maksim settled on the bench and crossed his legs. She glanced over at him and gave him a small smile. She had already teased him. She could try to be nice.

"Your name," she started slowly. "Maksim. Is it Russian?"

"Yes," he answered curtly. And looked out the open doorway of the compartment, watching another passenger walk by.

"Do you speak Russian?" She asked. His eyes darted back to her.

"_Da_." And his eyes slid away again.

She sighed and looked back out the window. He was so stiff, so serious. And painfully polite. And apparently not interested in chatting. Kate had questioned Nana's plan that he go with her. She was confident that she could manage a cross-country train trip and a few days of research on her own. And it's not like she was going to blabber to just anyone about the Order. But Nana convinced her that having him along would help. Even with a letter of introduction, the Assassins would be quicker to trust her with a fellow Assassin at her side. And trust was crucial in the Order. More so, it seemed, than in her family. She grit her teeth and tried to push that bitter thought aside.

She glanced back at Maksim. He had shut his eyes and tipped his head back against the headrest. She took the moment to really look at him. He seemed so different than when she had met him in front of the Bureau. That day, his dark hair, black as can be, was soft and loose, a shock of it hanging down over his forehead. Today, it was parted and slicked back close to his head. It was the style, of course, but it made her want to reach over and mess it up. He was wearing that coat again—a plain, charcoal grey pea coat, essentially nondescript except for the strange hood—though the hood was down. When she'd met him before, he seemed relaxed in just shirtsleeves and an unbuttoned vest. She thought he had flirted with her, just a little. He definitely had smiled at her. Yet she hadn't seen him smile since, outside of a single, smug smirk he'd given her at Nana's house. She hoped he wasn't going to be so serious the entire trip.

…

Maksim hadn't intended on falling asleep. But once he shut his eyes to keep Katherine from asking him personal questions, he had dozed off. He was vaguely aware that the train had started moving and once it started, the familiar rocking lulled him to sleep.

He blinked a few times when he woke, letting his eyes focus on the now dark compartment. He wondered how long he'd slept but quickly realized the compartment was only dark because Katherine had pulled the curtains almost completely closed. She had removed her shoes and curled her legs up under her in the chair. She was leaning at an awkward angle, holding a book in the thin sliver of sunlight shining through the curtains. That stretch of sunlight was also shining across her thigh. The way she was sitting had caused the hem of her skirt to hang just so, revealing the top of her stocking and, if he wasn't mistaken, a small Derringer pistol in a garter holster. He felt a warmth rise in his cheeks as his eyes lingered on her thigh, and he quickly averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

"Oh." Her head jerked in his direction, and she smiled. "You're awake."

"You can open the curtains." He nodded to her and checked his watch once the room was bright again, finding that he had only napped for an hour. He stood and reached his arms above his head, stretching briefly before removing his coat and folding it on the seat next to him. He then pulled open his duffel bag and began digging around for one of the books he had brought.

He heard her let out a long sigh and paused his search, arms elbow-deep in his bag to glance over at her. She was looking out the window, but even from her profile, he could see that her eyebrows were drawn low over her eyes and her lips were curved down. He shook his head and resumed hunting for his book. She really did telegraph every single emotion in her face. She would make a terrible Assassin.

* * *

**_A/N: _**I started typing up some historical notes about train travel in the 1920s and realized that I have a _ton_ and that most of you probably aren't all that interested. Instead, I'll just shout out my thanks to Kate and OhEyal for the reviews. Reviews make me happy!


	7. Chapter 7

**October 18, 1924, Arizona**

Kate leaned her forearms on the railing of the observation car's back platform, crossing one foot over the other behind her. In front of her, all she could see was miles and miles of desert. Dirt and scrub brush and blue sky. Paul had told her they were in Arizona, having left the Ash Fork station in the early hours of the morning. She had barely slept that night, but the excitement of being in another state motivated her to dress and find the observation car. She was a little disappointed to find that Arizona looked a whole lot like California.

She wondered if Maksim would panic when he found her no longer in their compartment. She hadn't meant to sneak out. In truth, she'd only realized after reaching the observation car that it might look like she had intentionally snuck out when Maksim returned from shaving. Hopefully Paul would let him know where she went. Hopefully he wouldn't actually panic.

They were barely speaking to each other as it is. The silence between them wasn't completely uncomfortable, but it wasn't comfortable either. Though he did engage in small talk over dinner, he had brushed off her efforts to get to know him. It was frustrating to no end. Thank goodness for Paul. If it weren't for the few snatches of conversation she'd had with the porter over the course of their first day on the train, the silence would have driven her crazy. The more time she spent in her own head, the harder it was to ignore the nagging feeling of guilt for keeping secrets from Dutch and the persistent bitterness under her skin at her mother's own secrets. She'd spent most of the night lying awake, staring up at the bed Maksim was sleeping in above her and trying to convince herself that she was not doing the same thing to Dutch that her mother had done to her.

She sighed and turned back to the passenger cars. She didn't want him to get upset about her taking off on her own. In truth, she wanted to talk to him, not just to have a more pleasant trip but to find out more about the Order and her family.

She found him sitting in their compartment, which had been converted back to its daytime set up, reading. He didn't even look up when she arrived. She waited for a moment, leaning one shoulder against the compartment's frame, just to see if he would acknowledge her. And he casually turned the page in his book and said nothing.

"Good morning, Maksim."

He didn't look up, but he did reply with a short "Good morning."

She pushed on with her plan.

"Would you like to join me in the dining car for breakfast?"

He finally looked up her, his face impassive as ever.

"I am surprised you would want me to."

"You're the one who's been blowing me off," she replied.

He cocked his head to one side. "And yet you still ask for my company."

"What can I say?" She offered a small smile. "I'm stubborn."

He nodded. "Breakfast would be fine."

Kate watched with a grin as he closed his book, stood, and buttoned up the suit jacket he had on. That's when she realized that he was wearing a proper suit and not that strange hooded coat. She took in the slim tailored trousers and high-waisted jacket that stretched across his shoulders in just the right way. And swallowed thickly.

"Is something wrong?"

Kate's eyes snapped to Maksim's, the rich brown suit making them look a little brighter, a little warmer, than the near-black color she'd thought them to be.

"No, no," she said quickly. And reached across to unnecessarily straighten his tie. She ignored the feeling of Maksim frowning at her as she turned and headed down the aisle for the dining car.

They continued their habit of not speaking as they settled at a table and ordered coffee and eggs and toast. Kate watched with amusement as Maksim dumped two heaping spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, but she didn't say anything, adding only a splash of cream to her own. Once the food was delivered, she made her move.

"I've been thinking, Maksim," she started casually. "If we are going to be travelling together for the next…well, few weeks, really, we ought to at least pretend to be friends." She noticed that he had paused mid-bite and was staring at her, but she pushed on. "I understand that you don't like me much and that you don't want to be here at all, but that doesn't mean we can't at least be civil. So I propose we get to know each other and find a few things we can chat about over meals. We don't have to actually be friends, but it will make the whole trip a little less unbearable if we can talk to one another like normal people."

She took a small bite of her omelet and waited for him to respond.

And, to her surprise, he nodded. "That…makes some sense."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a complete dimwit, you know."

"I did not say that you were," he frowned. And she sighed.

"I'm sorry. Look, can we just start over? I mean, it's not like we even met in a normal way."

And she held her hand out across the table and smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Maksim Kovalchuk."

He blinked at her offered hand before taking it and giving it a single, firm shake.

"And you, Katherine." She couldn't help but notice his voice sounded strained.

"Kate, please." She waved her hand. "Nana calls me Katherine."

She took another bite of her eggs and, when Maksim continued his silence, watching her a little warily, she grinned.

"This is where you might ask me a question, to learn something about me."

"I already know about you," he said.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Kate arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," he nodded. "It is my job."

"Alright, Max. Tell me what you think you know, and I'll tell you if you're right or not."

She noticed the slight downturn of his lips when she'd called him Max and tucked away that bit of information for later.

"Well, go on," she urged him, picking up her coffee cup and relaxing back in her chair.

"Your name is Katherine Louise Barrowman. Born, March 25, 1901 in San Diego to Margaret Barrowman and an unknown father. You graduated from San Diego High School and took courses at San Diego Normal School to become a teacher. Your marks were high, but you dropped out after a year. Until two days ago, you were employed by the Carnegie Library."

Kate interrupted with a small, nervous laugh. "Just because you know facts about where I went to school and where I worked doesn't mean you know about me." In truth, she was surprised at, and a little uneasy with, how much he did know. But he just continued on with rattling off information like she hadn't spoken at all.

"You listen to blues and jazz music and enjoy dancing. You ran a small—" He paused briefly, his eyes glancing around the dining car before lowering his voice slightly and continuing, "a small _business_ with two men, one of whom was recently killed—"

"Don't," she snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before adding in a softer tone, "Please don't talk about that night."

"I'm sorry, Katherine." Kate opened her eyes to see nothing but sincerity and genuine sympathy in his eyes. "He was more than a business partner?"

Kate nodded. "Peter was like a brother to me," she said quietly.

"And the other man? The one who was at the train station?"

"The same," she sighed. "The three of us grew up together." She focused on her food for a few minutes, pushing those uncomfortable emotions back down. And then she changed the subject. "This feels unfair. Even if all you know is facts, I know next to nothing about you."

Maksim sighed. "I will answer a few questions, in the name of fairness."

"That's very generous of you," she teased.

"I may not answer them all," he warned.

"Fair enough," she took a sip from her coffee and set the cup down. She was inordinately pleased that her plan had worked despite the fact that it was _still_ an unusual conversation. She wondered if Maksim even realized that he was such a poor conversationalist. She decided to start with an easy question.

"How long have you been in…your current career?"

"19 years." He pushed his empty plate away from him and settled back in the chair, crossing his legs.

"But you're _my_ age," Kate blurted.

"18 months older," he corrected. And Kate rolled her eyes. That still meant he was a _child_ when he started. And then a thought struck her.

"So…you were raised there," she said, grinning again. "Just like Nana."

She dropped her grin when Maksim shook his head. "Not exactly."

"Well, are you going to explain?"

Maksim's lips twitched. "I agreed to answer questions, not volunteer information."

"Why you little—" But Kate stopped before finished the insult and let out a laugh. "You _do_ have a sense of humor." She shook her head. "You've been holding out on me, Max."

"Maksim," he corrected her. And she just waved a hand dismissively.

"I like Max." She flashed him a grin before asking, "So how is it that you have been doing this since you were…" She bit her lip while she did that math. "Six?"

"Both of my parents were in the same line of work." He had folded his arms across his chest, and Kate noted the use of past tense. She was curious but didn't want to push her luck.

"So it wasn't kept a secret from you like it was from me?" She had said it more to herself and was getting ready to change the subject completely and ask if he liked to dance. But Maksim was apparently holding true to his word about answering questions, and he answered that one.

"No, I always knew what they did."

Kate sighed and looked out the window, suddenly losing interest in her game. "Must have been nice," she muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

"It wasn't always nice," he offered. "It was difficult, as a child, to know that they may not come home."

Kate turned back to him with a scowl. "At least they didn't lie to you about _everything_." The moment the words were out of her mouth, her eyes went wide. Maksim had no real reaction, but she still stammered out an apology.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was uncalled for." She looked down at her hands.

Maksim leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the table, and tipped his head forward to force her to look at him. "Your mother was trying to protect you."

Kate sighed, "And like I told Nana, 'Fat lot of good that did.' Peter still got killed by Templars. I'm doing the same thing as my mother. And I have a feeling my life will never, ever be normal again." She forced out a small laugh and shook her head. "You realize, Max, that you've been volunteering information? It's completely ruining your image as stiff and unapproachable."

Maksim was silent for a moment, and she started to regret her teasing, getting ready to apologize _again._ But, again, he answered her question.

"I did realize. I understand now that you're upset about your mother's choice to keep her work secret from you and that you're still grieving for your friend." He paused then added, "And you're also upset about being forced to keep secrets from your other friend, like your mother did."

Kate gaped at Maksim. Then snapped her mouth shut and shook her head.

"It's my job to be perceptive," he answered her unasked question with a small shrug. And he wasn't smiling but he still looked awfully smug. Kate just sighed and looked back out the window. He was right. Spot on. And she wanted to be mad at him for being able to read her so well, but she couldn't find it in her.

"Katherine," Maksim interrupted her thoughts. "If you would like to know more about your mother's work, I can tell you what I know." And, with a quick glance around the dining car, he added, "But we should return to our compartment."

"Kate," she corrected him, but she nodded and stood.

"If you insist on calling me Max, I will call you Katherine."

And when Kate glanced over at him, eyebrows raised, he was smiling. It was small and a little crooked, but it was a smile nonetheless.


	8. Chapter 8

**October 19, 1924, Kansas**

They were returning to their compartment after dinner and an evening in the parlor car, where Maksim read and Katherine joined a game of Euchre with two teenage boys and their father. Maksim was once again impressed with her congeniality and ability to chat with just about anyone—though he did listen in to make sure she didn't accidentally let slip anything that about the true nature of their trip. But all he heard was her chatting with the boys about baseball and referring to him as her fiancé. Again. She had glanced over at him as she'd said it, expecting a reaction no doubt. As kind as she was, she still seemed to enjoy pushing his buttons. He thought he had done well this time at keeping his face blank and pretending to be engrossed in his book.

Just before they reached their car, he heard Katherine sneeze in front of him.

He responded without really thinking.

"_Bud' zdorova_."

"What was that?" Katherine paused and turned around, her eyes slightly widened and a faint smile on her lips, and he realized what he'd said. He felt warmth rise in his cheeks.

"You sneezed," he shrugged one shoulder.

"Was that Russian?" She sounded thoroughly amused now.

Maksim grit his teeth and nodded.

"Say it again," she grinned at him.

He took one look at her smile, with its one crooked tooth and the way it made her hazel eyes bright, and sighed.

"_Bud' zdorova_," he quietly repeated.

"Say something else."

He held her gaze for a moment before jerking his chin in the direction of their car.

"Maybe later."

She sighed but turned and continued down the aisle.

Paul greeted them when they entered their sleeper car. But instead of his usual toothy grin, he had a strange, forced smile. It was unnerving.

A few minutes later, Maksim was loosening his tie, his suit jacket already hanging from the clothes rack, when Katherine returned from the shared toilet at the other end of the car.

"Paul just told me the strangest thing," she said, kicking off her shoes. Maksim tried to not watch her roll her stockings down. Her level of comfort with him was something he wasn't quite sure about. He carefully draped his tie over the shoulder of his jacket and waited for her to continue.

"He said some man was snooping around the car while we were at dinner."

Maksim tensed, and he turned to watch Katherine, her bare legs no longer even registering in his mind.

"Apparently," she continued, "he said he was looking for a woman he had met in the club car yesterday, but he couldn't remember her name. Paul said he described me." She relaxed back into the chair, yawning and stretching her legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankle. She was completely unaware of Maksim's growing apprehension. "I wasn't even in the club car yesterday." She let out a small laugh and smiled up at Maksim. But her smile quickly faded. "You're white as a sheet, Max. Are you alright?"

Maksim clenched his jaw as Katherine stood quickly and reached out for him. Her hand on his cheek was like a jolt of electricity. He jerked away from her, shaking his head.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Ever since Katherine had forced him into conversation the day before at breakfast, he had learned quite a bit about her. And one of the things that he learned was that she was clever. The smuggling arrangement had originally been her idea, and, despite the inherent risks in such a venture, the plans were sound—down to the last detail. From the stories she had told him, he also learned that she had good instincts. Most of the time. This, clearly, was not one of those times. How could she not see the potential danger of a man she didn't know looking for her?

"I'm just going to visit the observation car for a few minutes and get some fresh air."

"Oh," she frowned. "Okay."

He nodded sharply and tugged on his coat, leaving the compartment without another word. He pulled the curtains closed behind him and headed straight for Paul's corner of the car.

"Good evening, Paul," he greeted the porter with a nod. "Would you mind repeating to me the story you told Katherine?"

"Miss Kate? Of course, sir." Paul bobbed his head and told the same story Katherine had just relayed. Maksim got a few more details however, including a rather detailed description of the man. Short and round and in a dumpy coat and bowler hat.

Maksim nodded his thanks and headed for the door of the car, but Paul stopped him.

"Mister Max?"

Maksim winced at the nickname but turned back to the porter.

"I already asked 'round. He's assigned to the open section, car three." Paul gestured towards the front of the train. "Ask for Julius. And any porters give you trouble, you let 'em know I sent you. I'll keep an eye on Miss Kate while you're gone."

Maksim nodded again and opened the door of the car, feeling a rush of gratitude for the porter. And for Katherine's ability to charm everyone around her, which was, no doubt, why Paul was so willing to assist.

When he reached car three and found Julius, a somber looking fellow with a thick mustache, the other porter directed him to the observation car. Julius also mentioned a companion who went by the name of Mickey.

He started backtracking to the observation car, but ended up crossing paths with the two men in bowler hats, reeking of cheap cigars, as they made their way back to their assigned car. Maksim quickly turned his back to the men and ducked over to the porter's corner. The porter there was young, very young.

Maksim nodded at him and whispered, "Paul sent me."

The porter's eyes went wide, and he said, in an over-loud voice, "I believe they had coconut cream pie tonight, sir. Would you like me to get a slice for you?"

Maksim watched the porter's eyes as they followed the men behind him. Even if the nervous, young porter hadn't been watching, Maksim could have smelled the men passing.

"That is not necessary," Maksim said as he nodded his thanks and turned to follow the two men, trying to stay in range of their conversation without them detecting him. If either of them stopped or turned his way, he'd have to duck into someone's compartment, and he didn't want the trouble that might stir up.

"I'm telling you, Mickey. She looked just like her."

"The girl died in France, Joe. You're talkin' 'bout a ghost."

"Maybe she had a kid."

"We'da known if she had a kid."

"What if we didn't? What if her kid was kept a secret? What if she's who got to Caldecott?"

"Fine, Joe. Fine. We'll look again tomorrow."

It was all Maksim needed to hear. He clenched his fists and reminded himself that it would not be a good idea to kill the two here. A train in the middle of Kansas or wherever they were now had no good hiding places and few escape options. And the most important thing, his first priority, was Katherine.

He slowed his pace and let himself drop out of range until he spotted an empty compartment. He stepped in and listened for the car door to slide shut again before turning and heading back in the other direction. He paused in the vestibule just before their car and tried to collect his thoughts before facing Katherine.

What were the chances of Templars being on the same train—let alone Templars who would have known who Mags Barrowman was and what she looked like? And why would they care about Mags Barrowman and a potential child of hers anyway?

Katherine had told him the story about her ancestor being given an artifact. It matched the story O'Malley had told him, save O'Malley's detail that the artifact was a Piece of Eden. But O'Malley didn't believe it. Maksim was inclined to believe his mentor, but apparently the Templars believed it. They believed it when they came after Mags all those years ago, the attack that caused her to keep Katherine out of the Order. And if these men on the train were concerned about Katherine, then the Templars must still believe it.

Whether there was a Piece of Eden or some other artifact or nothing at all didn't matter much. What mattered was that Katherine was now in danger, and Maksim's boring escort job had just gotten complicated. And significantly more dangerous.

The two Templars hadn't been able to confirm Katherine's identity, but it wouldn't take long. The train wasn't all that big. And Katherine wasn't all that inconspicuous, chatting with everyone she saw. They were almost to Chicago, but they would have to be careful until then. And once there, the Templars would likely be looking for her when they got off the train. With no way to get in touch O'Malley other than sending a telegram when they got to Chicago and no idea where the Bureau in Chicago was or who might be there, Maksim was beginning to feel like a Novice all over again.

When he finally entered their car, Maksim quickly thanked Paul and asked him to pass on his thanks to both Julius and the young porter. He paused just before opening the curtains and steeled himself for explaining to Katherine that she now had Templars on the train and looking for her. A memory of her from breakfast the day before flashed in his mind. "_And I have a feeling my life will never, ever be normal again,_" she'd said. She wasn't going to take this news well. And he wasn't looking forward to telling her.

And then he mentally cursed himself for _caring_ how she would handle the news. He wasn't supposed to worry about anything but keeping her out of trouble. Nothing about this situation was right. It hadn't been since the moment he saw her standing in front of the Bureau, tugging nervously on the brim of her hat. He should have never jumped down from that roof.

He sighed and stepped through the curtains. The beds had been folded down while he was gone, and Katherine had changed into a set of pale blue pajamas. She was sitting in the far corner of her bed, knees pulled up to her chest. She looked right at him.

"That man is a Templar, isn't he?"

All Maksim could do was nod. She had obviously put the pieces together after he left. And even though he had seen her dressed as a boy and shoving a gun into the throat of a man not two months ago, he still had trouble reconciling the slight woman in front of him with that aggressive young boy and her family's legacy.

Until that moment—when he watched her mouth tighten into a thin line and her eyes turn cold.

"So what do we do?"

"Lay low," he said calmly. "And figure out how to get you off the train and onto the next one without drawing their attention."

"Why are they here?"

He sighed and unbuttoned his coat, trying to appear casual as he explained. "It seems to be a coincidence that they're on the train with us, but one of them must have interacted with your mother at some point."

"And I'm the spitting image of her." Katherine finished the story for him, repeating O'Malley's words, as he hung his coat. Maksim could feel Katherine's bitterness towards her mother ringing in his ears. He watched her warily, looking for the emotions that typically played across her face, but he saw none. And this bothered him more than the idea of Templars on the train. And he mentally cursed himself again for caring and turned to gather his things for the night.

When he returned from the toilets, Katherine hadn't moved. He reached up to the upper berth and pulled himself up, forgoing the creaky, little ladder altogether. The compartment was silent and tense, more so even than their first night when they were barely speaking to each other.

"Maksim," Katherine said after a few minutes of silence. He stilled at hearing his proper name, something she hadn't used in two days.

"Yes?"

"Don't lie to me again." Her voice was not bitter, like it had been whenever she spoke of her mother's lies. It was worse—flat and emotionless. Maksim shuddered involuntarily at the sound of it and closed his eyes.

He hadn't even considered that he _had_ lied to her. But he definitely had. He had lied and gone off to hunt down Templars. The parallel was not lost on him.

"I'm sorry," he answered solemnly. Then, after the briefest of moments, added quietly, "_Prosti, pozhaluysta_."

Whether she didn't hear him or no longer cared, he couldn't be sure, but his apology was met with nothing but silence.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ An extra chapter for the weekend because I got a particularly lovely note today. As always, thanks to my loyal reviewers, Kate and OhEyal. And to answer your question, OhEyal, yes. Dutch will be back.

Euchre = a card game popular with sailors  
_Bud' zdorova_ = be healthy; common response to a sneeze in Russian  
_Prosti, pozhaluysta_ = forgive me, please (At least, I'm pretty that's what it is. Apparently there are lots of ways to apologize in Russian. I checked a ton of resources, and I hope I got the right version. If any one knows (and/or wants to help me with a few other Russian phrases later in the story), let me know.


	9. Chapter 9

**October 20, 1924, Chicago, IL**

Kate was sprinting blindly up Clark, desperately trying to keep up with Max. She didn't know if the men in bowlers were behind them or not. She didn't know how far back the police officers were. She didn't know where Max was headed—or if he even _knew_ where he was headed. When they had turned onto Clark and headed north, Kate thought they were finally out of the officers' line of sight. But Max wasn't slowing down.

The plan had been simple enough. Nearly foolproof. They both left behind some clothes and Kate's suitcase, putting only a few things each in Max's duffel, so they had less to worry about, less to carry. They figured the Templars would get off the train quickly and scan the platform for her getting off. So Max was to exit first and wait on the platform, keeping an eye on the Templars. And Kate would wait until the train was near empty before exiting wearing her trousers and newsboy cap.

The plan didn't quite work that way.

Kate skidded to a stop when Max started scaling the support beams of the elevated train tracks that crossed Clark. He was insane if he thought she was going to climb after him. But that's exactly what he thought. Halfway up, he turned and shouted down at her.

"Climb! Now!"

She grit her teeth and followed his directions, surprising herself at her ability to make it most of the way up. Max reached down and helped drag her the last few feet, just as the officers turned the corner below. Exhausted by her efforts, she fell into him. But he didn't give her a moment to rest. He grabbed her hand and started jogging along the tracks.

After another half a block, he ducked and swung himself to the underside of the tracks and onto one of the girders, crouching, waiting for her to join him. She was a little slower, a little less graceful, but she made it, crouching next to him.

He held a finger to his lips and looked down at the street below. They could just make out the two police officers who had stopped at the intersection where they had climbed up. Kate held her breath as she watched them look around the intersection, but never look up, before turning back the way they had come.

She turned to Max, meeting his eyes for the first time since she sprinted past him from the train.

"What happened?" Max's voice was tight, tense.

Kate shook her head, glancing down at the street below. "We're hanging out on the underside of the train tracks in broad daylight, and you want me to tell you a story?"

"No one ever looks up," he said, calmly this time. "Tell me."

"One of the Templars spotted me in the compartment. I didn't wait to see if he'd recognize me or not. I punched him and ran."

Max's eyes widened slightly. "You punched him?"

Kate looked back down at the street again before nodding.

If he had any further comment, he didn't get a chance to make it as an incoming train began to rumble towards them.

"Come on," he said, hoisting himself back up to the tracks. "We should try to find the Chicago Bureau."

Kate silently followed, not sure what kind of mess she'd managed to get them into.

She maintained her silence while they rode the train for two stops and headed back out on city streets. Max had just slowed his pace and was frowning at something. Kate followed his gaze to a flower shop across the street. A flower shop with two noticeably armed men standing in front arguing.

"We may have just gotten lucky," Max said quietly. Kate looked up at him, brows drawn together. He glanced at her and explained, "I believe we found a thieves' guild. Follow my lead." He turned, ignoring the look of confusion on Kate's face, and strode across the street.

The two men in front stopped their argument and glowered at Max and Kate as they approached. Kate just squared her shoulders and set her jaw and followed Max as he walked right past them and into the shop.

Behind the counter of the flower shop was a man arranging a bouquet of white roses. Not particularly tall, maybe a little soft, definitely of Irish descent, with reddish-brown hair and a round, pasty face. He looked up at Maksim and Kate.

"Safety and peace, my friend." Max nodded.

The man's eyes went wide for a moment before he returned the greeting. "And to you."

"We are hoping you can direct us to the local Bureau," Max said. Kate watched the man behind the counter. His eyes darted from Max to her and back, and he licked his lips before nodding.

"You new to town?" He asked, setting his scissors aside and wiping his hands on a rag.

"Yes," Max answered.

"Thought so." The man grinned. The expression reminded Kate all too much of a wolf from the fairy tales. "Haven't seen much from the Order recently, but I definitely haven't seen you two around." His eyes fell to Kate again. She held his gaze, lifting her chin slightly. And ignored the chill creeping down her spine.

"We are just passing through," Max said by way of explanation. "We need a place to stay for the night."

"Ah. I think I can help there," he smiled again. "The Bureau is clear on the other side of the city, but I have a hotel nearby."

"We would prefer the Bureau," Max replied calmly. "We don't have the funds to pay for a proper hotel."

The man looked them both over again before nodding and flashing another unpleasant grin.

"Perhaps we can make an arrangement. I just so happen to be in need of some fresh faces to do a little job for me. Just some information gathering. What do you say to a day of work in exchange for a room?"

Kate shot Max a sidelong glance. She was hoping he'd say no. She was hoping he'd look back at her and see that she wanted him to say no. But he didn't. He just nodded. And Kate followed his lead.

"Sounds fair. What do you need done?"

"Brilliant!" The man grinned again and held out his hand. "The name's O'Banion by the way."

"Nick," Max shook his hand and jerked his chin in Kate's direction. "My apprentice, Peter."

She winced at the name and was grateful when O'Banion didn't offer his hand, only nodding instead.

The tension in Kate's shoulders didn't release until they had arrived at the hotel and shut the door to their room on the tenth story. It was a nice hotel, recently opened, and probably something she wouldn't have been able to afford on a good day. She let herself sink onto the bed closest to the window and dropped her head in her hands. She stayed like that for a few minutes, replaying the events of the day in her mind while Max shuffled around the room.

"This doesn't feel right, Max." Saying the words out loud somehow made them sound worse.

She heard Max sigh. "No," he said slowly. "It does not."

She lifted her head and looked at him. He had taken his coat off and was leaning a hip against the small table on the other side of the hotel room, arms folded across his chest.

"Why did you agree?"

"I think we may have been in even more trouble had I said no." He shrugged one shoulder.

Kate pictured the amount of armed men, two out front, two in the back room, and O'Banion himself. She nodded slowly, grudgingly.

"And why did you call me Peter?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind. And it's a common enough name."

She wanted to be mad at him but couldn't get past the simple logic. She sighed and pulled off her cap, running her fingers through her hair.

"So what do we do now?" She asked, resigned to the situation. "Can we just go back to the train station?"

"Not tonight," Max shook his head. "I imagine everyone at this hotel works for O'Banion. They would notice us leaving."

"And we have no idea when the next train is or how to get there from here."

"I would rather not invite trouble," Max said, nodding in agreement. "We will gather some information and find a safe way to Philadelphia tomorrow."

Kate sighed again and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. And she couldn't shake the feeling that it was her fault.

The truth was that she was already feeling a little guilty about not acknowledging Max's apology the night before. She had heard the sincerity in his voice. She had heard the Russian phrase and, even knowing nothing at all about the language, knew it was another apology. At the time, she'd been too upset to respond to either, and in the morning, Maksim had returned to his reserved and overly formal demeanor. Though he wasn't quite as cold as he had been the first day, he was still aloof.

It hadn't taken long for Kate to realize that she missed the more relaxed, almost friendly _Max_ she had spent the two previous days with. He was far from a chatterbox, but, with enough prompting and prodding from Kate, had quite a bit to say about Russian literature and modern film. He had a sharp, dry sense of humor, and he had moments where he was genuinely warm, particularly whenever Peter or her mother came up on conversation.

Just before that Templar showed up at their compartment, she had been contemplating her preference for that _Max_ over the _Maksim_ she'd spent the morning with. Even his speech was more relaxed.

And then they'd been running from Templars and police and she had forgotten that she was even mad at him.

Caring about his speech patterns seemed so frivolous now.

"I'm sorry I got us into this mess, Max." She paused and corrected herself. "Maksim."

When he didn't respond right away, she filled the silence.

"I always wanted to come to Chicago, did you know that? No, you wouldn't have. But I did. I always wanted to come here. And this is not how I imagined it would be. I wanted to go dancing. The Dreamland and the Arcadia. I wanted to see King Oliver play. To see Bessie Smith sing. Peter and I were…" She sighed and closed her eyes, leaving that thought unfinished. "I'm sorry I panicked on the train. If I hadn't, we'd be halfway to New York by now."

"If you had not reacted the way you did, you might also be dead."

Kate snorted and blinked back the tears that had welled up behind her closed eyes.

"No one is at fault. It doesn't matter how we got here," he continued. "It matters that we get out. And we will."

Kate did not miss the way he just accepted her apology and accepted her reaction on the train without judgment. Just like Nana had accepted her news about rum-running.

"You're right, Maksim," she sighed. "Of course, you're right."

The silence stretched between them again, her thoughts now consumed with memories of Nana and thoughts of forgiveness.

"Katherine...have I…caused irreparable damage?"

"What?" Kate popped up on her elbows and looked over at him.

Max was still leaning against the table with his arms still crossed, but his eyes were on the floor in front of him.

"Last night," he clarified, his voice steadier than it had been a moment before. "Did my dishonesty cause irreparable damage?"

"Irreparable damage," she repeated. Then, shaking her head, she sat all the way up and leaned her elbows on her knees.

"If it matters," Max added, looking over at her, "I didn't lie maliciously. It was instinct."

Kate cocked her head to one side. "Your instinct is to lie?"

"I've trained as an Assassin my whole life," he said quietly, dropping his gaze again. "I have the instincts of an Assassin. My current job is to keep you safe. That's all I was thinking of at the time."

Kate bit her lip. She understood the logic of his explanation. But she wasn't sure how she felt about his admission that his instincts included lying. She wasn't sure she understood what it meant to be an Assassin.

She hadn't intended to take too long with her response, but she did. Max sighed and pushed off the table, crossing the room to the window and keeping his back to her.

"I am not sure I have done a very good job."

Kate let out a huff of air and shook her head. "I'm alive. I'm a little sore from climbing those damn train tracks and a little bit shaken, but I'm alright. I think you're doing a fine job of keeping me safe." In a softer voice, she added, "And you didn't do irreparable damage."

Max turned towards her at her answer, and she met his gaze with a small smile. He quickly looked out the window again, but not before Kate had seen one side of his mouth slant up in a half-smile of his own. And her stomach did a lazy somersault.


	10. Chapter 10

**October 21, 1924, Chicago, IL  
**

Maksim leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. Katherine was across the street, dressed as herself again. Dressed in the same dress she'd been wearing the day he met her in front of the Bureau. The one that reminded him of apricots. She was waiting outside the Northwestern School of Law building, waiting for Jack Pritzker to come out.

They had gone out the night before looking for information on O'Banion and on Pritzker, the young man O'Banion asked them to tail. They walked to a diner near the hotel then to a speakeasy a few blocks away. And Katherine had rolled her eyes when Maksim reminded her of the names he'd given to O'Banion. But he had been impressed; she had maintained her disguise well. He had forgotten how easily he had been fooled the first two times he had interacted with her.

Watching her the night before and watching her now, he noticed that she walked differently, held a different posture, even spoke differently while in disguise. He had been surprised at her free use of slang when dressed as a boy, slang he sometimes had a hard time following. But it had been useful in her convincing others at the speakeasy to share information about O'Banion. And about Jack Pritzker and his family.

In just a couple of hours, they had learned that the Order had little presence in Chicago. With Prohibition and the bootlegging that came with it, the city had split into territories, run by various organized groups—O'Banion's North Side Gang being the one Maksim and Katherine had inadvertently gotten themselves involved with. But these groups were _not_ thieves' guilds, not the way they were supposed to be, at least. They had also learned that Jack Pritzker was the youngest of a very wealthy Chicago family. His older brothers were lawyers—lawyers who so far had managed to stay out of any of the gangs' business.

Katherine had come to the same conclusion that he had: O'Banion was going to try to use the younger Pritzker to leverage his brothers to represent him and his gang. Katherine had scowled at the idea, and they agreed that it was not something either of them wanted to participate in. Which is why Katherine was dressed as herself and getting ready warn Jack about the plan.

Maksim straightened when he saw a group of men leaving the building. He identified Jack Pritzker almost immediately. Katherine had as well. He watched her approach the young man with a smile. He watched Pritzker wave his classmates on and return Katherine's greeting.

As Katherine spoke, she played with her necklace, holding the round locket-like pendant between her fingers and tugging it lightly from one side to the other. It was not a typical nervous habit of hers. Playing with her hat or her hair was. He almost grinned when he realized what she was doing. Playing with her necklace was a good way to distract a man, drawing his attention to her chest, drawing attention to her gender and, likely, making him feel like she was harmless. It was a clever trick. But Maksim was uncomfortable with the way it was working. Jack Pritzker was handsome. And was smiling at Katherine. And standing a little too close to her.

Maksim frowned. He shouldn't be concerned about that. He should only be pleased that she seemed to be quickly convincing Pritzker to trust her.

He watched Pritzker shake his head and take a half a step away. Katherine put a hand on his arm, her face turning serious. And Maksim stilled while he watched Pritzker look at Katherine for a long moment. He considered walking over and interrupting, but Pritzker finally spoke again. And Katherine dropped her hand from his arm and nodded. And then they turned and started walking south on Dearborn. Katherine shot Maksim a quick glance, and he knew to follow.

He scowled when he saw Pritzker offer his arm and Katherine accept, and he increased his pace, suddenly wanting to be within range to eavesdrop on their conversation. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to hear, but they seemed to be talking about music. He shook his head. Of course Katherine would strike up a conversation about music when lives were potentially at stake.

They only walked a handful of blocks, five to the south, then west a few. They stopped in front of an office building with an impressive archway over a pair of large, brass doors. Maksim hung back, eyeing the tower over the archway and wondering what exactly Katherine was doing. He turned his attention back to her just as she turned and looked directly at him. And gestured him over with a nod of her head.

They hadn't planned on letting Pritzker know he was there.

He watched her carefully as he approached. But she just smiled at him.

"This is Jack," she gestured to Pritzker. "Jack, my friend, Nick."

Maksim shook hands with the young Pritzker, who quickly returned his attention to Katherine.

"Let's go inside and find my brother," Pritzker said, stepping up to the front door of the building and held it open, gesturing them both inside.

Maksim followed Pritzker and Katherine through the marble and glass lobby and up an ornate central staircase. He still wasn't exactly sure what she was up to.

"Margaret tells me you're from California, Nick."

"We are," Maksim confirmed. He was lucky that Pritzker had clued him in on the false name Katherine had used. It was another detail they hadn't spoken about ahead of time, but a decision he knew was smart on her part.

"How do you like Chicago?" Jack asked. "Margaret says she's been distracted by the height of the buildings."

"I lived in San Francisco," Maksim said flatly. "It is not the same, but we have skyscrapers there as well."

"I forget about that sometimes," Katherine smiled at Maksim over her shoulder. And an awkward silence fell over the trip as they climbed three more flights of stairs and entered brightly lit lobby.

Jack waved at the woman behind the ornate desk in the middle of the room.

"Hello, Amelia. I need to speak with my brother. It's important."

Maksim watched the stout woman behind the desk frown at Jack. But, after that brief hesitation, she followed his request and led them back to a large office. Maksim realized where they were when he recognized the man seated at the desk in this room as Jack Pritzker's older brother. They shared the same broad forehead and dark eyes.

"Jack. What's this about?"

"It seems O'Banion is scheming to get at you again, Harry," Jack sighed, looking quite a bit less cheerful than he had been just a few minutes before.

"I see." Harry steepled his fingers in front of himself. "And I assume this pretty young thing convinced you to come directly to me…with her 'bodyguard.'"

And for the first time, Maksim saw Katherine falter, not expecting the distrust. If she had been walking, she surely would have stumbled. Maksim stepped forward, taking over for her.

"Forgive us the intrusion, Mr. Pritzker. My friend and I have no more interest in getting involved with O'Banion than you do. Our current situation is a product of mistaken identity."

Katherine, having regained her composure, nodded. "We only arrived in Chicago yesterday and got mixed up with O'Banion. We were only looking for a night of safety and peace before continuing on our trip."

Maksim's eyes snapped to Katherine, both amazed and concerned at her use of the phrase. Both Pritzker brothers seemed to have noticed as well. After a single tense moment, Harry nodded and his face split into a welcoming smile. Katherine let out a noticeable sigh of relief.

"We haven't had anyone from the Order in touch in a long time," he said, shaking his head and gesturing to two chairs. "Tell me exactly what is going on."

Jack leaned against the windowsill while Katherine and Maksim settled into the chairs, and Katherine started the story with walking into O'Banion's flower shop.

"He wasn't exactly forthcoming with us about that state of things in the city, but…long story short, he offered up a place to stay in exchange for some information. And asked us to tail Jack here and report back." She glanced over at Maksim, who picked up the story from there.

"We gathered some information last night that suggests O'Banion's intention is to kidnap Jack as a means to get you to work with him."

"It wouldn't be the first time he has tried to strong arm me into getting involved in his business."

Jack chimed in. "I'm not surprised he didn't tell you the truth about the Order."

"Yes," Harry nodded somberly. "Things have been in a bit of disarray these last few years. The sooner we get the 18th amendment repealed, the better off we'll all be. We have had to essentially leave the gangs to their business and try to focus our attention on the politics. But," he smiled ruefully and spread his hands wide, "as you can see, even that doesn't always work. These gangs are always searching for power, control. I believe there are Templars amongst them, despite the fact that they are essentially working against the laws the Templars are in support of. But the power the gangs have, Torrio and his second, Capone, in particular…it's too tempting for them." He shook his head again. "Ah, well. Enough of our city's politics. You two likely need a better place to stay than in the heart of O'Banion's nest."

"That would be lovely," Katherine smiled, glancing over at Maksim for approval. He nodded. And briefly debated the best way to go about discreetly collecting their things from the hotel. Even though he was hesitant to leave her side, he knew she would be safest here, in the office building, rather than trying to sneak back into the hotel dressed as herself.

So Maksim left Katherine with the Pritzkers and made his way back to the hotel.

He nodded to the woman sitting behind the hotel's front desk before he headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He had just reached their floor and fished the room key from his pocket when he noticed someone coming up the stairs behind him. He stopped in front of the door, and shot a quick glance back at the stairs. It was one of O'Banion's men, short and stocky and clearly armed. He started to unlock the door, but turned back at the voice that called to him from the top of the stairs.

"Oi. Where's the kid?"

"Doing his job," Maksim replied levelly.

He started to turn back to the door of his hotel room, when he noticed a second man coming from the other end of the hallway with a menacing grin. It only took a moment to recognize the Templar from the train. He scanned the hallway quickly, assessing his options. There weren't many. Other than going through the room, he had no other exits. If these two wanted a fight, he had no way to avoid taking them both down. And they sure looked like they wanted a fight.

He looked back at the one who had come up the stairs behind him. O'Banion's man had pulled a gun from his coat, and Maksim wasn't about to wait and let him take aim.

Maksim took one long stride towards the stocky man and swung his arms, boxing his ears with as much force as he could. The man stumbled half a step, but Maksim grabbed his head and yanked it down, slamming his knee into the man's face with a satisfying crunch and shoving him against the wall.

By this time, the Templar had run up behind him. Maksim spun around only to meet a brass knuckled fist. He blocked the second swing with his forearm, giving him just enough time to release his hidden blade and drive it into the man's throat. Twice.

He quickly unlocked the door and dragged both bodies into the room. He wiped at the blood trickling down his temple with a bath towel, grimacing as he realized how much it stung. He held the towel to his head while he used his free arm to shove the few stray items from the room into his duffel. He dabbed at his head a few more times before snatching the bowler from the Templar he'd stabbed and pulling it on. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. He'd have to hope the hat hid it just enough to not draw attention.

He locked the door and slipped out the window and down the fire escape, ducking into a small cluster of people as they crossed the street in front of the hotel.

He moved from crowd to crowd as he crossed town back to the Pritzker's building, pausing only once to lift a handkerchief from a banker to wipe at the blood slowly seeping from his temple, trying to keep it from actually dripping down his face. He kept the hat on until he reached Pritzker's office where Jack, Harry, and Katherine were sitting and chatting amiably.

Katherine smiled up at him, but her smile dropped and her eyes went wide the moment he took off the hat.

"Oh my—what _happened_?" She stood abruptly and took three steps towards him before going still just shy of reaching him.

"O'Banion's men," he said grimly. "And a Templar. We have to leave the city. Now."

* * *

**_A/N: _** O'Banion and the Pritzkers are real people. Dean O'Banion really did operate the North Side Gang out of a flower shop in Chicago. And the Pritzker brothers really were lawyers (and their family has made quite a few contributions to the city of Chicago). However, any association with Templars or Assassins it totally my doing. 'Cause, you know...they're not real.

And a shout out to my lovely reviewers, Kate, OhEyal, and beafstew (welcome to the party!). So happy everyone is still enjoying the story.

So here's a question for my readers: I've got pictures of key characters posted on the tumblr I made for this, but I have other pictures of things (some locations, a couple of dresses, etc.). Anyone interested in seeing pics other than the characters, let me know and I'll post them. Otherwise, I'll just stick with faces and the occasional song.


	11. Chapter 11

**October 22, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

"We should be there in an hour."

Kate glanced up from the book she had been staring at but not really reading to see Max string his tie around his neck. Without really thinking about it, she set the book aside and stood, reaching for the tie.

"It looks cold out there," she commented as she wrapped the wide end of his tie around the thinner end, beginning the knot she so often tied for Peter.

He had been a near constant thought since Harry and Jack Pritzker shuttled them off to the train station with two of Harry's bodyguards. Or, more accurately, since Max had walked into the room with blood trickling down the side of his face. She had never had much of a problem with blood before, but the sight of it, the sight of _Max_ bleeding, had ripped a hole in the carefully constructed wall she had placed around her memories of the night Peter and Dutch were shot.

"We'll find you a coat." Max's voice was soft, reminding her of his proximity to her.

She paused in the middle of the four-in-hand she was tying, realizing that her fingers had begun to tremble. She shook her head, hastily dismantled the knot, and crossed the wide end over the front in the beginnings of a Windsor knot instead. The symmetry of the less traditional knot seemed more fitting for Max anyway.

She could feel Max's eyes on her as she gently pulled the tie tight and smoothed his collar over it. She forced herself to look up at him, forced a small smile, but faltered when her eyes settled on the bruise that had settled just next to his eyebrow. It had turned a deep purple, nearly black, overnight. The color was only intensified by the two perfectly white butterfly bandages that Harry had put over the cut. Harry had said Max was lucky. Had the punch landed square, he probably would have been knocked unconscious. It was simple enough for Kate to finish that thought through. If he had been knocked unconscious, those men probably would have killed him.

She quickly looked away and blinked back the tears she had been fighting against all morning. She sat back down next to the window and wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the gray sky.

She wouldn't be so emotional if she'd had a proper night's sleep, if she hadn't spent the entire night on the train constructing more and more dreadful versions of the family's curse her mother had believed in, wondering if everyone close to her was destined to die.

"Katherine, what's bothering you?" Max sat across from her, tilting his head to try and make her look at him. She grit her teeth and focused on the view from the window.

"It looks like it might rain," she said dismissively. "I really will need to find a coat."

"I don't think that's what is bothering you."

"I'm just tired," she lied.

She closed her eyes against the silence that stretched between them. It was against her nature to shut someone out. But she didn't know how else to handle the situation.

Unlike their arrival in Chicago, their arrival at Philadelphia's Broad Street Station was uneventful. Max had directions to the Bureau—a 20 minute walk straight down Chestnut Street. She followed him silently after turning down his offer to borrow his coat. She just tugged the thin sweater she had around her shoulders and focused her attention on the tall buildings instead of the chill in the air. And she wasn't even surprised when Max turned down a narrow alley between two brick buildings and knocked on an unmarked door.

They were greeted by young man, 17 or 18 at most, who seemed to be made of mostly knees and elbows. He and Max exchanged a greeting, another code of the Order, and they were quickly led down a short hall and directed to an open door. The young man disappeared almost immediately, and Kate waited a step behind Max as he knocked on the doorframe to the office. She peeked around his shoulder to see a small desk cluttered with books and papers, bookshelves full of more books and a few other odds and ends, and a man in a dark suit sitting at the desk with his nose in a book. He set the book down and waved them in when Max knocked.

His hair reminded her of nutmeg, except for the few streaks of silver at his temples. His nose was straight and just a trifle long, but it still seemed to fit with his cleft chin. His eyes were a warm hazel, and the lines around them suggested he smiled quite a bit. Which surprised her, given his occupation.

But he did smile when they walked into the office.

"I've been expecting you two." He held up two pieces of paper, one a letter, the other a telegram. "So is it Maksim? Or…" He glanced at the telegram before his welcoming smile shifted into something more like a smirk. "Nick?"

"It is Maksim, sir." Maksim bowed his head slightly, folding his hands behind his back. A few days ago, Kate might have rolled her eyes at his formal tone and posture. Instead, she ignored it.

"And Kate, is it?"

"Yes, sir." His smile widened when she nodded to him.

"Charles Shearer," he stood finally, offering his hand across his desk. "Charles is fine. I don't do 'sir.' Welcome to Philadelphia."

When Kate reached out to shake his hand, he shook his head slightly and added, "I never thought I'd meet Mags's little girl."

"You knew my mother?" Kate blinked at him.

"I did," he said, waving them to the chairs and sitting back in his own seat. "I worked out West for a while…oh, a couple dozen years ago, I guess. I met your folks a few times, too," Charles continued, shifting his attention to Maksim. "I was sorry to hear about your father's death. Nikolai was a good man."

That answered one of the questions Kate hadn't had the nerve to ask Max. She watched from the corner of her eye as Max bowed his head slightly and thanked Charles.

"So," Charles said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. The smile had faded from his face, leaving him looking as serious and somber as Max. "O'Malley's letter said you were coming to look into your family, even though he told you we have no records here. Harry Pritzker mentioned trouble in Chicago. And I can tell from looking at you," he nodded at Max, "that Pritzker wasn't wrong. I'm not sure what you expect to find here or why you were even in Chicago and using false names. So why don't you start from the beginning."

Kate hesitated. She didn't want to start with the night the rum-running deal went bad. She wasn't prepared to tell that story, but somehow she knew that's where she needed to start. And, almost as if he'd read her mind, Max spoke before she could. She watched him as he calmly retold the story of that night from his perspective. When he finished explaining about Caldecott, he looked over at her, giving her the faintest of nods, and she picked up the story.

Charles frowned when he heard that everything had been kept a secret from her. And that frown deepened when Max explained what happened in Chicago. Kate dropped her gaze to her lap when he got to the confrontation at the hotel.

This was the first time Charles interrupted with a question.

"Are you're sure it was the same man from the train?"

"Yes," Max nodded. "His eye was swollen half-shut."

Kate looked up at that, eyes wide. Max hadn't mentioned that before.

Max had one of those rare, slight smiles on his face when he glanced over at her.

"Apparently Katherine is good with her fists."

She couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not, but she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

Charles chuckled, "Mags had a nasty right hook, too."

"Mom didn't teach me how to throw a punch," Kate spat. "Mom didn't teach me a damn thing." She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and took a breath. "I'm sorry," she said, looking across the desk at Charles. "I…I haven't slept well."

"I understand," he smiled kindly. "How about we stop here for now. We've got a couple of rooms set aside for your two. Perhaps you'd like to get settled, and you and I can talk more about your family later?"

"I…yes," Kate sighed. "Thank you."

He nodded. "James should be in the front room. Gangly, blonde kid in need of a haircut. He can take your bag up and show you to your room." Then, to Max, he added, "Mind spending a few more minutes with me before I let you go?"

Kate didn't look at Max; she just thanked Charles again and left them to find James and her room.

James, the same young man who had answered the door, was exactly where Charles said he would be. He was gregarious, and Kate let him chatter away and lead her through the Bureau and up a flight of stairs.

"There are two rooms on the left, you can take whichever you'd like. But I recommend the last one down. It's bigger." He didn't even wait for her to acknowledge the suggestion before dropping the duffel bag in that room, talking the entire time. "Washroom's at the end of the hall. And the kitchen's always open. Just don't leave a mess, or Charles'll put you on night duty for a month. And you need anything else, just let me know." He gave her a funny little bow and a grin before leaving her alone in the room.

After unpacking her things, she took the duffel with Maksim's clothes to the other room. James had been right about her room being bigger, though both had nearly identical furnishings and neither had a window. She ran into Maksim in the hallway just as James finished the same speech and headed back down the stairs.

They both stopped and looked at each other for a moment. Then both spoke at once.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry, Max."

Kate shook her head and quickly said, "I'm fine."

Max's lips twitched down, but he just nodded. "Charles was heading to the kitchen to make tea, if you wanted to speak with him."

She nodded in return and stepped past him. She wasn't actually planning on looking for Charles just yet, but leaving the awkwardness of the hallway seemed like the best option.

Charles was dumping tea leaves into a cheerful orange teapot when Kate found the kitchen.

He glanced up at her and smiled. "Tea?"

"Please," she responded and watched as he pulled a second cup from a shelf behind him.

"I was surprised to hear from O'Malley that you were coming," he said casually, turning to check the kettle on the stove. "I assume he told you that the records books were stolen a while back?"

"He did. But I work…worked in a library, and I'm good at research. I guess I just hoped I might still find something." She looked down at her hands. "It's hard to find out that everything you believed about yourself was a lie."

"Ah," Charles sighed. She looked up at him to see a mixture of sadness and sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sure you've been told that your mom was trying to protect you already. I wish I had a better explanation for you than that." He shook his head.

"She was trying to break the curse."

"Curse?" Charles tilted his head.

Kate nodded. "My grandmother told me about it. Mom believed we were cursed because of some artifact that got lost."

"Christ," Charles laughed. "I forgot about that story." He turned to the kettle that was now steaming and poured the hot water into the orange teapot. "I hope you don't believe there's any truth to it."

Kate frowned. "My mom died doing something I don't understand. My two best friends were shot by Templars three months ago because of me. Peter died. Dutch nearly did, too. And Max…Maksim could have died yesterday because of whatever this…_thing_ is." She shook her head and let out a bitter sigh. "I don't know if it's a curse, but I need to know what the hell is wrong with my family."

Charles crossed the kitchen to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, met his gaze, and found the warmth in his eyes inexplicably comforting.

"I know you don't know me from Adam. But your mom and I were friends once, Kate. And I promise you that there is nothing _wrong_ with your family. None of this, _none_ of it is because of you. The blame is not yours."

She felt her lips curve up in a small smile. "You sound like Nana," she said quietly.

He dropped his hand and laughed. "I never met your grandmother, but from what I've heard, I wouldn't dispute anything she said."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Bonus Tuesday post! Because...reasons. And new characters means new faces on tumblr! And Kate will be in Philly for a while (ten or so chapters), so settle in. And, as always, thanks for all of the reviews and follows and favorites!


	12. Chapter 12

**October 23, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

"Ah, Maksim. Just the man I've been looking for."

Maksim looked up from the tomato he was carefully slicing to find Charles strolling into the kitchen.

"Charles," he nodded in greeting and set down the knife. "What can I do for you?"

"Keep making your sandwich," Charles waved a hand at the counter and leaned against a cabinet, crossing one foot over the other. "Have you been down in the basement with Kate all day? Any progress?"

Maksim resumed his slicing. "No. I have not seen her since last night."

"Oh? I figured you'd be with her. From the way she spoke about you last night, I assumed the two of you were close."

Maksim paused in his slicing and frowned slightly, wondering what she had said to Charles. Wondering what Charles meant by "close." He wasn't even sure they were friends—not that he had many other friendships to compare this to. O'Malley was always warning him that it was dangerous to let anyone get too close, that emotions were a distraction and friends were a liability.

"I have known her less than two weeks," he clarified, making one more slice before adding the tomatoes to his sandwich.

Charles chuckled. "Sometimes two weeks is enough."

Maksim's frown deepened as he glanced up at Charles, who met Maksim's eyes and shook his head, spreading his hands wide.

"Right, right. I'll leave that conversation alone. I actually wanted to talk to you about Chicago."

"What about Chicago?" Maksim asked, abandoning his sandwich completely and turning to face Charles.

Charles folded his arms across his chest. "I heard back from one of the Master Assassins who's still there. He agreed with your theory."

"O'Banion sold us out." Maksim scowled.

He wished he'd been wrong about that. If he'd been wrong, if it had just been O'Banion alone, then there was less to worry about when it came to getting Katherine back home. He'd only killed one of the two from the train. If the other Templar had any brains at all, he would have made the connection between seeing Katherine on the train, the boy who punched his friend, the same boy showing up looking for the Order, and the two dead bodies. They may not know the boy _was_ Katherine, but they would probably be watching for both.

Maksim rubbed his hand along his jaw, considering the situation. "Pritzker said there was little organization in Chicago."

"True," Charles nodded. "There's no Bureau to speak of right now. A man named Pennymaker was running the Bureau there a couple years back. Cocky son of a bitch, Pennymaker. He ignored our orders to stay out of the bootlegging and tried to get one of the gangs on his side." Charles shook his head, frowning. "We lost some good men and women in that mess."

"But there are still Assassins there?"

Charles nodded. "The one I've been in touch with, Cunningham, and handful of others. Between Pennymaker and all the deportations back in '19, Chicago's probably our weakest city at the moment, but we haven't abandoned it completely."

Maksim nodded slowly. There were still pieces missing from the story—the biggest, as far as Maksim could see, was why Katherine was so important to the Templars in the first place.

"You said you knew Katherine's mother?" He asked, tilting his head to one side.

"I did," Charles nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

"Do you know why the Templars would be concerned about her having a daughter?" When Charles frowned, Maksim continued, "On the train, they said Katherine looked like her mother. That was how this started. Why would the Templars care about Katherine's mother?"

Charles sighed. "Probably the artifact they think Mags had."

"The Piece of Eden? O'Malley said that was just a story."

"Of course he did," Charles snorted. "O'Malley never…ah, nevermind." Charles shook his head and continued, "It doesn't really matter much if it's true or not anyway. Mags believed it. Kate believes it. And the Templars obviously believe it. If they didn't, they wouldn't have broken into the old Bureau here, and I wouldn't have been brought in to replace the Mentor who was killed in that attack."

"And," Maksim added, "Katherine's mother may never have kept the Order a secret from Katherine."

Charles drew his brows together and frowned. "How do you mean?"

"I was told that she was attacked while pregnant. It seems that is why she chose to hide Katherine and to keep the Order a secret."

"Christ," Charles said. "I remember hearing about the attack. I didn't realize she was pregnant then. Well, I didn't know about Kate at all until I got that letter from O'Malley last week, but an attack like that…" He shook his head and left the thought hanging.

Maksim's thoughts drifted back to the two Templars on the train, and he wondered what the Templars really did believe. And what they would do if they could confirm Katherine's identity.

"Did O'Malley give you orders for me?"

"Just to send you back," Charles shrugged. "Now that I think about it, I can tell he doesn't think she'll find anything. He said to send you back 'when she gives up.'"

Maksim frowned as an idea formulated in his head. Katherine was stubborn enough to not give up easily. Which meant she would be at the Bureau for a while. And she would be safe at the Bureau, especially with Charles, who seemed to harbor a particular fondness for her mother—and by extension, for Katherine as well.

"I would like to request permission to return to Chicago," he said finally.

"Oh?" Charles arched an eyebrow. "And why do you think I would let you do something like that?"

"We need to know what the Templars know," he said levelly. "Katherine is an innocent. She is not even in the Order. My assignment was to keep her safe. And knowledge is our best means to protect her at this point."

Charles smirked at him, and Maksim had to swallow back a prickle of irritation. He wasn't sure why the older man was smirking at all. Or why it bothered him that he was, but whatever Charles was going to say was cut off by Katherine bounding into the room, grinning widely.

"I found her, Charles!" She held out a scrap of paper. Her eyes flicked to Maksim, and she froze for a moment, before adding in a quieter tone, "Hi, Max."

Maksim ignored the look Charles was giving him and returned Katherine's greeting.

"Katherine," he bowed his head slightly. "You found something?"

"I did." She held the scrap of paper out to Charles. Maksim watched him straighten and accept the paper with a warm smile.

"A receipt from Carey Printing House for…well, I'll be damned. Merle Barrowman."

"It's from 1812," Katherine said, still grinning. "That makes her my great-great…" Maksim watched in amusement as she bit her lip and looked at the ceiling while she counted. "Just three. Great-great-_great_ grandmother."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Kate," Charles said carefully, handing the scrap of paper back to her. "But a name doesn't tell you much, does it?"

Maksim frowned as Katherine's grin faded. He knew Charles was being completely logical with his comment, but Maksim couldn't help but think he could have given her a little more time to rejoice in discovery, no matter how small it may seem.

"Not much, no," she agreed. Her smile had dimmed, but it was still there. "But I bet I can find more about her in the archives at City Hall. Maybe even a birth certificate that would have her parents listed." At that she frowned. "Well, her mother at least." Then she shook her head, her frown deepening. "Unless she wasn't even born here."

"I am sure you will find something," Maksim said, hoping he sounded encouraging. He tilted his head and added, "I could accompany you to City Hall tomorrow, if you would like."

"I thought you wanted to go to Chicago?" Charles's eyebrows were high on his forehead, and he was failing at disguising his grin.

"You're leaving?" Maksim blinked at Katherine's question. Even though she had been avoiding talking with him since they arrived at the Bureau, she sounded both bewildered and disappointed.

Maksim turned from Katherine's wide eyes to Charles's smug grin and frowned. Chicago was more important. Keeping Katherine safe was more important.

"I will leave for Chicago tomorrow, if I have your permission." He bowed his head respectfully. When he glanced back up, Charles had straightened, and his face had gone serious.

"Your reasoning is sound, Maksim. But you will not, under any circumstances, get involved with O'Banion and his men. No kills. Only information gathering."

Maksim nodded in agreement, and Charles sighed. "Alright. I'll send messages to Pritzker and Cunningham to let them know you're coming. Come to my office in a few hours, and we'll make some arrangements." He turned to leave the kitchen, pausing to put a hand on Katherine's shoulder and smiled down at her. "Congratulations on your discovery, Kate."

And then he was gone, leaving Maksim and Katherine alone in the kitchen. Maksim turned back to his still untouched sandwich, picking up the knife and slicing the sandwich in half. He pulled a plate down from the shelf above him and moved both halves of the sandwich to the plate.

"I'm glad you found something about your family so quickly," he said, glancing back just in time to catch her nervously tucking her hair behind her ear and pulling it back out again.

"Oh," she frowned. "Thank you."

He nodded and carried his plate to the dining room. He needed to prepare for Chicago. He probably would need to get some maps. And maybe Charles would be able to provide him with a better pistol than the one he'd brought. O'Banion's men had been heavily armed, and even if he wasn't intending on killing anyone, he wanted to be prepared to defend himself.

He had barely gotten through two bites before Katherine stomped into the room, interrupting his thoughts.

"You're going back to Chicago," she glared at him.

Maksim swallowed the bite he'd been chewing. "I am."

"And you're leaving me here."

He frowned, confused by her anger. "You will be safe here. And it will be better if I go alone."

"Right," she snorted then shook her head. "You do realize that they're going to know who you are the moment they see you?" She gestured to his head, and Maksim reached his hand up and gingerly poked at the bruise. He knew it looked much worse than it felt.

"They won't see me," he said, dropping his hand.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a woman appearing in the doorway.

"You're Maksim?"

Maksim turned his attention to the woman. He hadn't seen her in the Bureau before, but she was clearly an Assassin, her hidden blade just barely visible under the sleeve of her smoky, grey coat. When he nodded, she brushed past Katherine and extended a hand.

"Vera St. Ledger." Maksim stood from the table to shake her hand. "Charles told me you're headed for Chicago. If you need anything, blades and guns or…_anything_ at all, just let me know."

He ignored the wink she gave him and nodded his thanks. "I will come see you after I speak with Charles this evening."

Her painted red lips split into a grin before she turned to leave. But she paused before even taking a step, looking at Katherine as though she had only just noticed her presence.

"And you must be the girl we're taking care of."

Katherine nodded and replied, "Kate." Her voice was flat and her face expressionless.

"Pleasure, I'm sure," Vera replied in an equally flat tone before tossing another wink over her shoulder at Maksim and turning down the hallway, her blonde curls bouncing.

Maksim shook his head slightly as he sat back down at the table. Aside from his mother and a few other women he knew back in San Francisco, he hadn't worked with any female Assassins before. He wasn't sure what to make of her introduction. He glanced back up at Katherine, who was looking down at the ground. But he didn't miss the fact that her hands were balled into fists at her side, the receipt with her grandmother's name on it crumpled. He frowned.

"Katherine?"

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze. And she let out a sigh, looking back down as she relaxed her hands and smoothed out the scrap of paper. Her voice was soft when she spoke again, all of her earlier anger seemingly gone.

"I guess I should let you get ready for your trip. Just…" She blinked up at him, hesitating, before continuing. "Just be careful, Max."

And she turned abruptly and left the dining room before he had a chance to respond.

He frowned at the space where she had just been standing, completely puzzled by the last twenty minutes. Neither Charles's nor Vera's reactions had made much sense to him. And while he knew Katherine a little better, her strange shift in moods was equally confusing. It made him wish he was back in San Diego with O'Malley. Or even in San Francisco with his mother. At least they both said what they meant. He shook his head and picked up his sandwich again. He would be glad to leave for Chicago.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ The "deportations in '19" Charles mentions is a reference to the Palmer Raids during which over 500 foreign citizens were deported based on alleged involvement in communism, anarchism, and radical leftism.


	13. Chapter 13

**October 28, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

Kate wandered down the steps to the basement to pull down yet another box of junk to dig through when she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh. It took her a moment to remember that the basement wasn't just the Bureau's storage space but was used for training as well.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and blinked at the scene in front of her. Vera was crouched in the middle of the training ring, wearing a pair of fitted trousers and what looked like a man's cotton undershirt. Her fists were taped up and held in loosely in front of her. Her lips, somehow still painted a deep red, were curled into a snarl—somewhere between menacing and playful. She was slowly circling another Assassin, a barrel-chested man with a square jaw and dark hair.

"C'mon, Vera," the man laughed. "Stop lollygagging and hit me already."

Kate's jaw dropped when the man took a swing at the blonde woman—and was clearly putting all his weight into the punch. But Vera was quick and pulled away before bringing her own fist up towards his jaw. He dodged her easily and laughed again.

"She's frustratingly patient." Kate jerked her head in the direction of the voice only to find James leaning casually against the wall next to her. He hadn't been there before.

"I hate it when you guys do that, you know."

"Do what?" James flashed a not-so-innocent grin at her before turning his attention back to the ring.

"Who's that she's fighting with?" Kate asked as the man took another swing that Vera again ducked.

"That's Sal. Don't know how to pronounce his last name," James shrugged.

"He's not holding back at all, is he?" Kate mused as Sal advanced on Vera with a quick succession of jabs. She danced away from him and smirked, falling back into her crouch.

"Not against Vera," James said. "He hardly ever lands a punch on her anyway. She's too fast for him."

As if demonstrating the point, Sal swung again and Vera parried it with her forearm just before taking a swing of her own, a solid cross that landed square on Sal's jaw. But instead of stepping back after the hit like she had been doing, she followed up with quick series of punches to his torso. He tried to pivot away from her, but James was right. She was quick and stayed right on him. And she laughed when he stepped a foot out of the circle Kate just noticed was painted on the floor.

"Another point to me, Sal."

Sal just shook his head as Vera walked to the far side of the room and started pulling the tape off her hands.

"I've never seen a woman fight like that before," Kate said, casting a sidelong glance at James.

He shrugged. "It's just part of the training, I guess."

And with that, he pushed off the wall and walked over to Sal, patting him on the back. Kate shook her head and turned back to the stacks of boxes on the other side of the basement.

She had struck out completely on finding any evidence of Merle Barrowman at City Hall, and, while she had found some interesting things in the Bureau's old files and boxes of abandoned personal effects, she hadn't found any other signs of her family.

She'd been at the Bureau now for nearly a week. Five days without Max. She'd had breakfast with Charles nearly every morning. And James had taken her out and shown her around the city a bit. But otherwise, she'd been on her own. She was getting frustrated with her searching, and she was getting more than a little homesick. But she wasn't ready to give up yet. Not until she'd gone through all of the boxes. And she was only a third of the way there.

She sighed and pulled the lid off the one she had marked as her next box, settling on the floor next to it to start digging through its contents. Old magazines, half-filled journals, the occasional handkerchief or pocket watch or portrait of a girl—everything just haphazardly thrown together. Charles had explained that after the attack when the Bureau's ledgers had been stolen, they had just thrown everything in boxes and moved to the current location.

She held up what looked like a red sash of some sort and frowned.

"We used to wear those to mark ourselves as Assassins."

Kate blinked up at the voice. Sal was standing over her, grinning.

She looked back at the sash and shook her head. "I thought hiding was kind of important."

"It is," he chuckled. "That may be why we stopped wearing them a few decades back." He crouched next to her and peered into the box, wrinkling his nose. "Probably all sorts of weird shit in there."

"You have no idea," Kate snorted, dropping the sash back into the box. "I'm Kate, by the way."

"Salvatore Giaccherini. Sal's fine though."

"Giaccherini? That's not so hard to pronounce."

Sal's eyebrows shot up and Kate gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. James said he couldn't pronounce your last name."

"James can't," he chuckled again, shaking his head and rising to his feet again. "Vera tells me you're the new kitchen girl. I'll come by later to show you how I like my coffee. Welcome to the Bureau, Kate."

Kate gaped at Sal's retreating figure. Kitchen girl? She glared over at the corner where Vera had been, but no one was in the basement anymore. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the box.

"Welcome to the Bureau, Kate," she muttered under her breath.

Three hours and four boxes later, the only thing interesting she found was a small stack of letters tied together by a blue velvet ribbon. She decided to take the letters upstairs and read through them in the sitting room instead of hanging out in the dingy basement. As she stood and brushed the dirt off of her trousers, she amended her plan to taking a bath and making a pot of tea before reading the letters.

She had just filled the teapot with tea and boiling water and set it on a tray to take out to the sitting room when Sal sauntered in, both smelling and looking a lot nicer than he had before. Up close and in the bright light of the kitchen, she could see a long scar running down the side of his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

"Oh, good. You're here."

"I am," Kate nodded. And she bit her tongue and listened politely to Sal's request that his coffee in the morning have milk, not cream, and any coffee brought to him after noon have a half a teaspoon of sugar and no milk at all.

"No problem, Sal," she nodded.

"Want me to write it down for you?" He asked.

"Nope," she shook her head and tapped a finger to her temple. "I've got a good memory."

"Alright," he nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

She rolled her eyes and headed for the sitting room, tray of tea in hand. Settling into one of the corner armchairs, she unwrapped the velvet ribbon from the letters and picked up the first one. She glanced at the address on the front of the envelope. Margaret Debuchy of Bread Street, Philadelphia. The letter was dated May, 1773. Kate kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up underneath her before carefully unfolding the aged paper and she beginning to read.

She was expecting love letters. Instead, what she found were letters from a woman to her granddaughter, an Assassin recruit. She read the woman's reactions to stories Kate didn't have but stories that were clearly chronicling the girl's training and time. With each letter, Kate saw another month of this young woman's life pass by.

She graduated from Novice to full Assassin quickly. She survived a pirate attack while at sea. She was often frustrated with her limitations as a woman but encouraged by her Mentor. She helped procure gunpowder for the Patriots. She fell in love with a fellow Assassin. She discovered she was pregnant. With each letter, Kate became more and more engrossed in the lives of Margaret Debuchy and her grandmother. And when she reached the second to last letter, the letter in which the woman told her granddaughter that she was dying, Kate was nearly in tears.

Margaret's grandmother was going to miss the birth of her great-granddaughter. But she had a secret to tell Margaret before she left this world.

_When I came back to Philadelphia from the Caribbean, I needed to hide from my previous life. I took on the name of a friend. My real name—your real name—is Barrowman. I was born Cecily Barrowman. Whether you name your child Barrowman or Debuchy is your choice. But perhaps four generations of hiding is enough?_

Kate stared down at the letter, the words blurring together below her. She didn't know how long she sat there, trying to process just what exactly she was looking at. She heard the front door slam shut and looked up as Charles walked in, pulling his hood down as he stepped into the room.

"Hello, Kate," he smiled at her as he started unbuttoning his coat. "Nice to see you out of the basement."

"I found them," her voice came out as a whisper. "I found them, Charles."

He froze, coat half off. "You found them?"

She nodded, holding the letter out with a trembling hand.

Charles pulled his coat the rest of the way off and strode across the room to take the letter. While he scanned that letter, Kate opened the last one. It was dated 1796.

_Mother,_

_There is a traitor in our ranks. I don't know who it is yet, but someone is hunting me. You know why. It is only a matter of time until he finds me. I am sending Merle back to you and ich werde diekiste halten. Whatever they say about me…Nichts ist wahr. Es ist in unserem Blut.__ Du weißt __schon__. Stellst du sicher, Merle weißt. Für __das größere Wohl__ fliege ich._

_Wren_

Kate recognized the last few lines as being German, but she couldn't understand it. She glanced up as Charles knelt beside her and looked over her shoulder at the letter.

"'Nothing is true,'" he read quietly. "'It is in our blood. You know. Make sure…'" He paused and turned to Kate. "The other name you found was Merle, wasn't it?" Kate nodded, and Charles continued. "'Make sure Merle knows. For the greater good…I fly for the greater good_.'_"

"You know German?"

He nodded. "And there must really be an artifact. A box, I think. Look." He pointed to the word _diekiste__. _"It should be _die Kiste, _but it means box_. Ich werde die Kiste halten_. 'I will keep the box.'"

Kate stared down at the letter in front of her, her skin buzzing with energy. She looked from the name scrawled at the bottom of the letter—Wren—to the letter Charles was still holding gingerly.

"Debuchy," she said slowly. "That's why I couldn't find Merle Barrowman. She was going by Debuchy. And her mother's name was Wren. And _her_ mother was Margaret. And before her was Cecily. But they're all Debuchy, not Barrowman."

She shook her head, her mind reeling with the information. And then her eyes returned to the German words Wren had written, remembering what Charles had translated. Remembering something Nana had said to her weeks ago.

"It's in our blood," she whispered slowly, almost reverently. She met Charles's questioning gaze. "Train me," she said. "I want to be an Assassin."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Four chapters in one week? Yep. Apparently I'm binge posting. There might even be another one shortly (but only because I had these chapters written ages ago).


	14. Chapter 14

**October 29, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

When Kate asked Charles to train her, he had been a little reluctant at first. He questioned Kate multiple times before agreeing. And even then, he decided he wanted to "test" her first. She understood that he was concerned her emotions were clouding her judgment. She just wasn't sure what the "test" was all about. If she failed, would he turn her down? Would he send her home? _Could_ he even turn her away with how much knowledge she had about the Order? All he'd really said was to dress as she would for one of her rum-running jobs and meet him at the front door at 11.

Everyone seemed to be off training or on assignment somewhere by the time she had dressed for her "test" and met Charles at the door. His face was somber as they walked a few blocks down, stopping at the mouth of an alley.

"Alright, Kate," he nodded to her. "There is a group of boys who play dice at the other end of this alley. They work with us from time to time. I want you to try and find out where our Bureau is."

"Okay," she said slowly, frowning. "But I already know where it is."

"But they don't know that, and they shouldn't be giving that information out freely. Gathering information is a key part of what we do. Sometimes we need to blend in with the crowd and eavesdrop, and sometimes we need to get our information other ways. I want to see what you come up with in this situation."

Kate nodded, already considering her options. Charles put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a small smile.

"I'll be watching."

Kate nodded again and, knowing she wasn't going to get any further instruction or encouragement, readjusted her newsboy cap, and sauntered down the alley, listening for the sounds of a dice game.

Finding the boys was easy enough. There were five of them, varying in age. She approached the group, listening to their conversation for a moment before drawing attention to herself. They were playing craps, goading each other, and that was about it.

One of them, a tall, lanky boy with face full of freckles stood and eyed her.

"You want somethin'?" He asked, neither rude nor polite.

"Just got to town," Kate shrugged, tucking her hands in her pockets. "Looking for work."

Another boy looked up from the dice game and narrowed his eyes. "This look like work, kid?"

Kate glanced around the group, who had all turned to her now. She easily picked out this second speaker, a beefy kid with hair the color of peanut butter and a jagged scar across one cheek, as the one in charge.

"Nah," she said looking him square in the eye. "Looks like rats and mice to me. Where I'm from, rats and mice usually means someone worth talking to." She shrugged again and started to turn away, crossing her fingers in her pocket.

"What kinda work you lookin' for?"

Kate turned back to see that the kid with the scar had stood up and was eying her warily.

"The kind that makes cabbage," she said. "Used to work for some droppers back in San Francisco. Organized joint."

"Droppers, huh?" The kid narrowed his eyes at her again. That was exactly the reaction she was looking for; he knew what she meant. She held his gaze steadily, knowing that looking away first was the worst thing she could do. Instead she cocked her head to one side.

"Play me for the address."

The kid snorted and shot a glance at the taller boy. Kate lifted her chin and repeated the offer.

"Best of three. I win, you give me an address. You win, I walk away with nothing."

"Alright," the kid said slowly. And Kate tugged on the brim of her cap and crouched on the ground next to him. She shot a single, quick glance back down the alley, but Charles was nowhere in sight. She wondered where he was watching from.

She hadn't played street craps in a while, but there wasn't much to it, especially not with a wager as simple as this.

"Boxcars," the kid said, passing her the dice. Kate rolled her eyes. He wasn't going to make it easy on her. Good.

He had chattered away the entire time, either trying to bait her with name calling or asking questions in a thinly veiled attempt to figure out if she really was who she said she was. But Kate was used to this, and he was just a kid. She kept her cool and, less than fifteen minutes later, Kate had won three hands to his two.

"Right," he said, shaking his head. "Which one do you want?"

She didn't know there was more than one Bureau. Maybe this was why Charles considered it a test. She narrowed her eyes at the kid and just said, "I need to know how to find them."

"Got it. Both addresses it is. There's one across town on Cherry Street, not sure who's there anymore. But they've got a place nearby on—"

"What the hell are you doing, Tuck?"

Kate stood and spun towards the voice. So did the other boys. Towering over them was Sal. A coal-black coat buttoned up and a hood pulled low over his eyes, but Kate recognized his voice. She also recognized his stance and the slight curl to his fists. He was ready to fight. Kate loosened her knees and squared her shoulders, just in case he decided to follow through with that thought.

Tuck, meanwhile, held his hands up. "I made a deal with the kid. Fair and square."

Sal's eyes darted to Kate and narrowed. Either he was a good actor, or he didn't have the faintest idea it was her. She didn't budge, her brain racing to try and figure out if this was part of the test or if Sal really had just happened upon them. Either way, she couldn't let her cover drop. Not with the tension in the air. Not with the knives in the boys hands.

And that was when she realized the boys—all five of them—_had_ pulled knives.

Sal growled, "I don't give a shit what 'deal' you made, Tuck. You don't give out that address to some street urchin."

"Fuck you, Sal," Tuck spat.

At that moment, something else happened. Someone _else_ attacked them. It wasn't Sal, and it wasn't Tuck. It was a new group of boys altogether. And one of them had thrown a knife, hitting Tuck's tall, lanky sidekick in the shoulder. The kid dropped to the ground, and chaos erupted in the alleyway. Kate's first instinct was to run, but the moment her eyes fell to the kid on the ground, she stopped. She stood over his body, fists up in a defensive position.

It was Sal who turned on her, the boys scuffling around them.

"Who the hell are you, kid?"

"None of your business, _kid._" She sneered back at him. She was vaguely aware that some of the boys had fled the alley.

"I'm only gonna ask nicely one more time," Sal said, stepping closer to her. She knew she couldn't fight him. Peter may have taught her a few things, but she couldn't _actually_ fight. She also couldn't back down. The kid behind her still wasn't moving.

So she lifted her chin and replied coolly, "You didn't ask nicely in the first place."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Sal swung. Just like he had swung at Vera the day before. Kate ducked his fist, just barely, and kicked her leg out in front of her, sweeping his feet out from underneath him. In the same movement, she pulled her Derringer from her ankle holster and leveled it at Sal who was in the process of scrambling to his feet.

He froze when he saw the gun. Kate didn't know what had happened to everyone else, but the alley was suddenly empty. Just Sal, her, and the kid's still unmoving body.

"The kid is innocent," she hissed. "You better make sure he doesn't die."

And she turned and ran.

She made it four blocks, cursing Charles and his "test" the whole way, before Sal caught up to her, grabbing her arm and slamming her into a wall. No one else was around. She could have told him who she was. But her mind was running on instinct now, instinct that told her to keep her mouth shut.

"Who _are_ you?" Sal snarled at her. Kate just looked him in the eye and said nothing.

"Fine," he said, his voice calmer, steadier, but no less menacing. "You want to play that way, we'll play that way. You want to find the Bureau, I'll take you there myself."

Sal yanked her from the wall and dragged her down the street. She hadn't even realized she had been running _towards_ the Bureau. Nor had she realized there was more than one entrance. But Sal pulled her down a short flight of steps and through a narrow doorway, shoving her to the ground once inside. And Kate blinked at the dim room and immediately recognized it at the Bureau's basement.

She scooted herself away from Sal, her back to a wall, suddenly very aware of a throbbing pain in her shoulder. He stood over her and demanded, "Tell me who you are, kid. Tell me what you want."

Kate grit her teeth and said nothing.

Sal was just leaning over her, to ask again or to grab and shake her, Kate wasn't sure which, when Charles marched into the room.

"What's this, Sal?"

Sal straightened immediately. "This one was prying information out of some of Lavezzi's boys."

"I see," Charles grinned down at her.

At the sight of Charles's smile, Kate finally dropped her cover and blurted out, "There's a boy in the alley. He's hurt." She flashed a glare at Sal. "I _told_ you to make sure he was okay."

Sal was staring at her, jaw slack and eyes wide.

"He's fine," Charles said calmly. "It was part of the test. Tuck and his boys owed me a favor. A little more dramatic than necessary," he shrugged. "But that's Lavezzi's boys for you."

Kate stared at Charles for several heartbeats as his words processed, as the last threads of her adrenaline unraveled. It was fake. It was all an act. She could have shot Sal. Sal could have killed her.

"You lied to me?" She felt a familiar bitterness creep under her skin at the words. "You bastard." She stood, stepping towards Charles. She scowled at him, his calm expression only making her angrier, and her voice came out in a harsh whisper. "I thought that kid was hurt_._ You set this whole thing up—for _what_? To see if I could handle myself? See if I'd turn tail and run? Well you know what, Charles? I _didn't_." Kate felt the first tears fall, sliding down her cheeks. She turned away from him and closed her eyes. "Of course, you lied," she said flatly, looking back up at him and lifting her chin slightly. "That's what the Order does, isn't it? Lie and keep secrets. I shouldn't have expected anything different."

"Are you done?" Charles was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his eyebrows raised.

Kate nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"Good," he said. "You handled yourself fine until just now. I'm impressed that you maintained your cover the entire time, even when it was just you and Sal, who I know you know. But this," Charles waved a hand at the space in between them. "_This_ is a problem. And this is exactly what I was worried about." He glanced over at Sal, who had quietly backed away from the two but was still listening, watching. "What are the three tenets of the Order, Sal?"

He recited the same tenets that Kate had read about.

"Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood."

Charles nodded and turned back to Kate. "You upheld the first two brilliantly just now. It's the third one that worries me. Joining the Order is a commitment. They used to make us cut off our ring finger when we joined partly to symbolize that commitment. You can't be fully committed to a cause that you hate. If you think all we are is a bunch of liars and killers, how can any of us trust you to never compromise the Brotherhood?"

Kate blinked at him, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. Then, stubbornly, she shook her head. "My mother lied to me my entire life. How does that protect the Brotherhood?"

"I can't answer that for you," Charles sighed. "You may never find a satisfying answer to that question. But if you can't let go of that, if you can't commit yourself fully to our cause, then I can't train you."

Kate looked down at her hands as she unclenched her fists and flexed her fingers.

Then, taking a deep breath, she said quietly, "I understand."

"Good," Charles said. And Kate looked up to find him smiling down at her. He winked at her before turned back to Sal. "Sal, I want you to teach Kate to fight."

Sal nodded. "Sure thing, boss—wait. _Kate_?"

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Some slang terms in this chapter:  
rats and mice = craps  
cabbage = money  
droppers = hitmen/assassins  
boxcars = a pair of sixes


	15. Chapter 15

**November 5, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

Kate jumped into training head first. Charles probably wouldn't have let her do it any other way. Neither James, Sal, nor Vera were Novices, but none of them were experienced enough to be Master Assassins either. But, Charles explained, he trusted the three young Assassins who lived in the Bureau, so he delegated parts of her training to them—or, at least, to James and Sal.

In the early mornings, James took her running through the city, scaling buildings, and learning the streets below them. Kate could run, her years of dancing giving her strong legs and good stamina, but she was slow at climbing, which James teased her relentlessly about.

Sal's responsibility was to teach her to fight. Or, at least, prepare her to learn to fight. What that actually meant was punching a heavy punching bag or the large, padded mitts that Sal was would wear. Here, Kate had no real skills whatsoever to build on. Sal was patient with her, but he didn't let her stop or slow down.

And every day over dinner, Charles would draw her into discussions of history and philosophy, tying everything back to the Order, the Creed, and what it meant to be an Assassin.

The days were long and exhausting, and Kate was consistently sore and bruised. The only real time she had to herself was a couple of hours each afternoon, in between training with Sal and dinner. She spent that time reading and re-reading Margaret Debuchy's letters, tracing names and dates and places.

By the end of the week, she decided she'd gathered as much as she could from the letters. She asked Charles if she could walk over to City Hall during her free hours to see if she could find records now that she had more names to work with.

"Of course," he smiled. "But before you go, I have something for you." He handed her a package wrapped in brown paper.

"What's this?" She took the package from him carefully.

He gestured to the package and smiled. And Kate unwrapped it to find a brushed wool coat in a deep, inky blue. She stared at the neatly folded coat for a moment then looked up at Charles, brows drawn together.

"The Order used to have quite a structured set of rules when it came to our robes," he explained. "Grey for Novices, white for Masters. Scholars and Bureau leaders wore black. We had red sashes to identify ourselves as part of the Order. These days, those ranks don't really exist in the same way, and the only real symbolic portion of what we wear is the hood."

Kate hesitated before slowly lifting the coat and holding it up. It had three buttons just left of center and a matching leather belt. And a hood.

"You _are_ technically a Novice now," he added, his smile widening. "And it's getting cold out there."

Kate slipped the coat on, quickly buttoned it up and pulled the belt tight. It was a perfect fit, a comfortable weight on her shoulders. She noticed long slits in the back and on either side, which would make running and climbing easy. They also meant she could reach her garter holster. She couldn't keep the grin from her face as she smoothed her hands over the thick material. While she knew it was practical in more than one way, it was also probably the most elegant thing she'd ever owned.

"Thank you, Charles," she breathed, flinging her arms around his neck. She felt Charles awkwardly pat her back and realized what she had just done and _who_ she had hugged. She quickly pulled away, warmth rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," he chuckled, shaking his head before gesturing to the door. "Good luck at City Hall."

Kate smiled to herself as she wove her way through the bustling streets of Philadelphia. By the time she reached the brightly lit Archives office, she was feeling good, confident that today was the day she would find something useful.

She stepped up to the counter and began filling out a request slip.

"Can I help you?"

Kate looked up at the man behind the counter. He was a different clerk than the older woman who had been there the last time she'd been in. She would have remembered a face like his. He had sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes, almost grey really. And he smiled with his whole face, both cheeks dimpling and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Oh. Yes, please," she returned his smile. "I'd like to look at the city's census records from 1800."

She was hoping to find out where Margaret Debuchy lived around the time her granddaughter was sent to her. That last letter was the only one without an envelope.

"Of course," the clerk said, turning to head into the back room.

"Wait," Kate called after him. "Don't you need this?" She held up the little form she'd already started filling out.

He just smiled again. "I think I can remember the pretty girl that asked for the 1800 census."

Kate stared after him. Then blinked and looked around the archives room. There were only a few other people there, but no one seemed to have noticed the man's comment. Something about the way he said it, like it was completely normal to call a stranger pretty, reminded her of Dutch—of the way Dutch talked to girls he met at the dancehalls. Was he _flirting_ with her? She tried to think of the last time someone had flirted with her, and all she could come up with was a memory of Max teasing her about being lost that first time they'd spoken in front of the Bureau in San Diego.

She was standing at the counter, still a little bewildered, when he returned with a slightly dusty tome bound in red leather.

"1800," he said. "Just let me know if I can get anything else for you."

She swallowed back her thoughts and nodded her thanks before heading to one of the tables. Slipping out of her new coat, she settled in with the book.

She had been scanning the pages of the census for nearly two hours, still finding no signs of either Barrowman or Debuchy, when the clerk's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"That's 'Oh, Daddy,' isn't it?"

Kate jerked her head in the direction of the counter, eyes wide.

"You were humming," he grinned at her.

He was leaning his elbow on the counter, chin resting in his hand, watching her. Kate glanced around the room and found that they were the only two there. She wondered how long she had been humming. And how long he had been watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. She glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. They closed in ten minutes, and she still hadn't found anything. "I should let you lock up, I suppose." She started to close the book, but the clerk stood up straight and waved his hand.

"You have a little more time," he said. "I take it you haven't found what you're looking for yet?"

"Not yet," she shook her head, frowning slightly. "With my luck, it'll be on the very last page."

"Isn't it always?" He laughed.

Kate turned back to the census, but watched the clerk from the corner of her eye as he busied himself with a stack of papers at the counter. He really was handsome, the kind of handsome that belonged in the movies. She heard Dutch whispering in the back of her mind, "_Stay away from bell bottoms and flyboys, Katie_." But he was neither. She bit back a grin and returned her focus to the records in front of her. Her ten minutes went quickly.

"Would five more help? It looks like you only have a few pages to go."

Kate blinked up at the clerk again. "No," she said with a sigh and a small smile. "I won't keep you."

"It's okay," he shrugged. "I have to return a few things to the back before I can go home anyway."

He didn't even wait for an answer before picking up the stack of papers he'd been sorting and heading into the back room. Kate shook her head and started scanning the last pages of the census as quickly as she could. And on the second to last page, she found Margaret Debuchy and a one year old Merle Debuchy. She quickly scribbled down all of the details from the census onto a scrap of paper and shut the book, a triumphant smile on her face.

"See," the clerk laughed. "I had a feeling those extra five minutes would help."

"I can't thank you enough." Kate handed him back the book.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just doing my job."

Kate pulled on her coat and buttoned it up while he returned the book to the back. They ended up stepping to the front door at the same time. He held it open for her.

"Cripes," she muttered as she stepped outside. "It really is cold here." The sun was nearly down and a cold breeze had picked up, blowing leaves down the darkening streets.

The clerk laughed. "It's not _that_ cold."

"Colder than what I'm used to," she answered, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

"And where's that?" He asked as he pulled a pitch black bowler over his head.

"California," she said, smiling wistfully.

The clerk whistled. "I imagine winter there is quite a bit different than here."

Kate nodded and, realizing they were still standing in front of City Hall, she smiled at him.

"Thank you, again, for giving me a few extra minutes."

"Anytime," he grinned. He started to turn away but paused and turned back to her, "Which way are you walking?"

"Um," she frowned, looking around and reminding herself which way the Bureau was. Then, pointing a finger east, she said, "That way."

"Me, too. Well," he shrugged, "for a few blocks anyway. Mind if I walk with you?"

"Not at all," she smiled at him.

They turned down Market Street, walking at a leisurely pace. Walking next to him, she noticed that he was just a little taller than Max, the top of her head reaching his chin. Where Max's features were dark and his frame wiry, the clerk was fair and slender.

"So you haven't been in Philadelphia long I take it?" He glanced down at her, smiling when he saw that she was looking at him.

"Less than two weeks," she replied, quickly averting her gaze and chiding herself for comparing him to Max. Max was gone.

"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I should have made you fill out that request slip."

"Oh?" Kate looked up at him as they stopped at a corner to let a trolley pass.

"I would have gotten your name that way," he grinned.

Kate laughed. "Asking usually works, too."

"May I get the name of the doll who spent all afternoon humming jazz tunes in my archives?"

"Kate," she held her hand out, grinning at him.

The grin he gave her in return sent a rush of warmth to her cheeks.

"My friends call me Augie."

"Do I get to call you Augie then?" She could almost hear Dutch snickering in her head as she asked.

"I was hoping you would," Augie said, gesturing her across the now clear street.

A lively conversation about musicians and singers kept the two occupied until they reached the corner of Market and 4th Street. Augie stopped suddenly and looked up at the street sign. He let out a bark of laughter.

"I completely missed my turn," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm so sorry," Kate said, glancing around and realizing how close they were to the Bureau.

"You should be," he grinned. "It was your lovely company that distracted me."

Kate's eyes went wide as she saw Sal and Vera step up behind Augie, preventing her from reacting to the compliment.

"Well, well," Vera drawled. "Little Kitchen Kate found a friend."

"Leave her be, Vera," Sal sighed. He gave Kate an apologetic shrug.

Augie had turned to see who the newcomers were. Kate watched Vera rake her eyes over him before flashing a predatory smile.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Oh, um. Sure," Kate stammered. "This is Augie. Augie, Sal and Vera." She couldn't bring herself to call them "friends." She tugged on a lock of hair and watched the two men shake hands, Sal puffing his chest out a little as he did. Not that he needed to. And when Augie shook Vera's hand, Vera practically purred.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet a friend of little Katie's. She's always so lonely." Kate grit her teeth at the way Vera said her name. No one called her Katie except for Peter and Dutch. Vera hadn't earned the right.

"Well," Augie said, turning back to Kate. He was smiling, but it was less enthusiastic than it had been a few minutes ago. "It's been a pleasure, Kate. I hope to see you again soon."

"Thank you again for your help today," Kate said quietly, all too aware that Vera and Sal were watching them both closely. It was an awkward exchange as Augie started to offer his hand, stopped, and nodded before turning back the way they had come.

And Vera didn't wait for him to walk away before saying loudly, "Oh, Kate. He is _so_ out of your league."

Kate clenched her fists in her pockets and ignored the comment, quickly turning towards the Bureau. If Augie had a reaction to Vera's comment, she didn't see it. But there was no way he hadn't heard what she'd said.

* * *

_**A/N: **_"Oh! Daddy" = written by William Russell and Ed Herbert, recorded in 1923 by Bessie Smith

And one other quick note. I am not an artist, but I spent a bunch of time playing with Photoshop and a couple of sewing patterns from the 1920s. And now there is a picture on my tumblr of what the Assassins' coats/hoods might look like in this world I've created. Just don't look too closely at it because there some really goofy details I just couldn't figure out how to fix. If I had any skills, it would be a much cooler picture, I'm sure.


	16. Chapter 16

**November 6, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

"I hear you met a young man yesterday."

Kate sighed and sat in the chair in front of Charles's desk.

"Is that why you wanted to speak with me this morning?" She asked.

"It is," Charles nodded. When Kate shifted uncomfortably in the chair, Charles continued, "You're not in trouble, Kate. I just wanted to talk with you about the difficulties of having relationships with people outside of the Order."

"I don't have a relationship with anybody," she said, eyes widening.

"I didn't mean it like that." He shook his head. "Look, I'll just be blunt. It's damn near impossible to maintain decent relationships—even just friendships—with people outside of the Order. You're already worried about dishonesty, well, having a friend who isn't part of the Brotherhood means having a friend who you constantly lie to."

"I know," Kate sighed, thinking of Dutch.

"Did you tell him your name?"

"Who?" Kate blinked. Then, realizing he meant Augie, replied, "Oh. Only my first name."

"Good," Charles said. "What else did you tell him?"

Kate frowned, thinking back to the conversation. "Just that I was from California. We mostly talked about music." She shrugged. "It's not like we were necking or anything."

Charles arched an eyebrow at her. "And what if he had asked you to dinner? To go dancing?"

Kate snorted. "Why would he?"

Charles just shook his head and deadpanned, "Because that's the sort of thing young men do when they meet a pretty girl, Kate." When Kate rolled her eyes, he sighed. "Well, the point still stands. _If_ this young man, or anyone else you meet, should—"

"I understand, Charles," Kate interrupted him. He frowned, but she just shook her head. "The third tenet. Never compromise the Brotherhood. Augie can't know who I am or what I do or where I live. If I see him again, I have to lie about who I am. I understand. I do."

"And do you intend on seeing him again?" Charles was still frowning. Kate couldn't help but feel like she would disappoint him if she said yes.

"I'm not going to go hunt him down," she shook her head. "But he's the clerk at City Hall. I imagine I'll see him there if I go back."

"Ah," Charles said, smiling suddenly. "I didn't realize."

Kate grit her teeth. "What exactly did Vera tell you?"

"It doesn't matter," he waved a hand dismissively. "Just one more thing, and I'll let you get back to Sal. Whatever story you come up with, for this…Augie…or for anyone else you meet, keep it as simple as possible. Close to the truth without giving anything important away, something you'll be able to remember and keep consistent. And if he wants to walk you home again, take him to number 6 Strawberry St."

"6 Strawberry St.," Kate repeated, committing the address to memory.

"It's directly behind us," Charles nodded. "Etienne lives there. He'll bring you back here without anyone knowing where you actually live."

Kate nodded. She remembered the name from an earlier conversation. Etienne Witsel was one of the Master Assassins in Philadelphia, the one who would take over the Bureau when Charles left. Or died. The thought of Charles dying sent a shiver up Kate's spine. She _liked_ Charles. She knew Vera called her his pet. She knew that, because of his past friendship with her mother, he was a little bit nicer to her and a little bit more invested in her well-being, but she didn't care. Because she also knew it was Charles—his kindness and concern, his laughter and openness—that kept her from going completely crazy from the homesickness that had been eating at her since Max left.

"Charles," she started slowly. "Have you heard from Maksim?"

"Not since the last time you asked." His lips twitched. "Which was just yesterday."

"Right," she sighed, looking down at her lap.

"He's fine, Kate." Charles insisted. "If something had happened, I would have heard from Pritzker or one of the others there." When Kate didn't look up right away, he added, "And he's got more experience and probably more sense than my three yahoos put together."

Kate did smile at that. Shaking her head, she said, "James has a good head on his shoulders."

"He does," Charles agreed. "Sal does, too, when his temper is under control. That's something you and he have in common." Kate's smile turned sheepish, and Charles laughed. "I might need to supervise when you build up enough strength to actually start sparring with him."

"Speaking of," Kate sighed. "I better head downstairs. It's going to take me years to build up enough strength as it is." She started to stand and paused. "Unless you had something else for me?"

"Nope," Charles smiled. "Just keep what I said in mind."

Kate nodded and headed for the door. Pausing just before she stepped out, she turned back. "Charles, why does Vera hate me?"

Charles frowned and held Kate's gaze for a moment before answering.

"Vera's been the only woman for a long time. Not just here, but before she got here. She's proud and a bit territorial and, well…her story is her own. I won't say anything else." He shook his head. "Just keep doing what you've been doing. Try not to let her get to you."

Kate nodded thoughtfully and headed for the basement to continue training with Sal—who was in a particularly talkative mood.

He stood casually across from her with the mitts over his hands, barely moving with each of her hits, and chattered away like she wasn't doing anything strenuous at all.

"How the hell does a rum-runner not know how to brawl?"

"I learned…how to…escape…not fight," she said as she continued her punches.

"Makes sense," Sal said thoughtfully. "You're too damn small to do much else."

"Thanks," Kate said through grit teeth.

"So that move you did, when you knocked me on my ass? How'd you learn to do that?"

"Saw a guy…do it once…My friend…Peter…let me…practice…on him…'til I…got it."

"I see," Sal said. "So it was something you could do to give yourself a chance to get away."

"Exactly," she huffed.

"Come on now," he chuckled. "You can hit harder than this. I know you can."

Kate tried putting a little more _oomph_ into her next swing.

"There you go," Sal grinned. "So what other moves do you know? Besides the kicking thing."

"I can…throw one…good…right hook."

Sal snorted. "Bullshit."

Kate glowered at him, as she hit the mitt again. He raised his eyebrows. "Okay, then. Show me."

Kate paused her punching, and he stepped back from her, dropping the mitts to the ground.

"One good hit, and I'll let you off for the rest of the day," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't just hit you, Sal."

"Why not?"

"Because it's you."

He narrowed his eyes and stepped towards her suddenly. On reflex, she raised her hands in a defensive position. He paused, just for a second, before stepping closer.

"Hit me, Kate. Prove you can do it."

"No, Sal." She shook her head, frowning but not backing away.

"Sometimes our friends betray us," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "You need to be able to do whatever it takes. Hit me."

"I'm not just going to hit you."

"Scared?" He leaned back, grinning again. But this grin was nowhere near friendly, and Kate was momentarily taken aback.

"No," she shook her head stubbornly.

"Come on, little girl," he taunted her, crouching like he might actually attack her.

She bristled at the "little girl," and he noticed, his eyes flashing. "Don't be such a baby. Hit me, _Kitchen Kate_."

It was the nickname that did it.

"Shit!" He spun away, his hand covering his jaw where her fist had just landed squarely.

She stepped back, eyes wide.

"Oh god, Sal. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sal looked at her, his own eyes as wide as hers, his hand still on the side of his face. And he started laughing.

"Hot damn, Kate. You really can hit." He shook his head, not dropping his hand. "Day off for you. I'm going to go get some ice." He turned for the stairs and, looking over his shoulder, added, "And tomorrow we're going to figure out why you don't hit that hard all the time."

Kate watched him walk up the stairs and shook out her hand. Then she grinned. Maybe he would be able to figure something out, and she'd be able to actually try sparring instead of just hitting a bag of sand. And her grin widened when she realized she had plenty of time to take a bath and head back to City Hall to look for more evidence of her family.

On her way to City Hall, she looped around 2nd street and stopped in front of number 104. It was a red brick building, just like all the others. But at some point, it had been a home or apartment or boarding house where her great-great-great grandmother Merle lived with _her_ grandmother, Margaret. She stared up at the building for a few minutes, and absently reached up and wrapped her fingers around the necklace she always wore, her thoughts drifting to her own grandmother back in San Diego. She had written a letter, telling Nana and Dutch she was staying for a while, hoping Nana understood why, but she hadn't heard back yet. With a sigh, Kate tucked the necklace back under her blouse and headed for City Hall.

The archives office was busier today, but she quickly spotted Augie behind the counter and found herself smiling. She started towards him, but hesitated when she remembered the awkward end to their walk the evening before. Just as she stopped walking, he looked up from his book and smiled brightly.

"Hello again, Kate."

"Hi, Augie." She stepped up to the counter and offered him a small smile.

"I'm glad you came back," he said. Then, hearing someone call from the back, he tapped the counter in front of her and winked. "Don't go anywhere."

Kate watched him walk into the back and reached for the stack of request slips. She bit her lip, thinking over her conversation with Charles as she filled out the slip, carefully putting only her first name on the form.

Augie came back out carrying a stack of books, followed by the older woman she had seen on her first visit. Kate watched him deliver the books to a table where a couple was studying a stack of papers. The older woman greeted her.

"Can I help you with something?"

Augie put his hand on the woman's shoulder, "I've got this one, Grace."

The woman nodded and disappeared into the back.

"So," he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. "More census records?"

"No. Hopefully, a birth certificate this time."

"Ah," he said, taking the slip from her. But he didn't look at it. Instead, he tipped his head to the side and asked, "Are your friends always so charming?"

Kate stared at him for a moment before realizing he wasn't being serious. She sighed and shook her head.

"Sal's a good guy, but Vera…as far as I can tell, she _is_ always charming."

"Well," Augie said, smiling again. "I _am_ glad you came back." And then he did exactly what Charles predicted he would. "Before we were interrupted yesterday, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out sometime. And by sometime, I guess I actually meant tomorrow night. There's a local gal singing at the Standard. I think you'd like her."

Kate noticed the way his fingers flipped the little request form over in his hands as he waited for her answer. She felt an odd little flutter in her chest. And remembered her conversation with Charles.

"Augie," she sighed. "I don't…I don't think I can."

"Oh," his smile dropped instantly. "I see." And he looked down at the request slip. "You didn't put your last name."

"It's Shearer. But, Augie, wait." When he looked back up at her, she explained, "I just don't know if I can get off of work. I…work in the kitchens for a family." The lie tumbled out easily. She took a deep breath and continued, "I cook dinner and then get up really early every morning to prepare breakfast, so I don't have a lot of free time in the evenings."

"But you have some?"

Kate didn't miss the hint of hopefulness in his voice.

"Yes." She bit back a grin. "I'm usually free after 8. I just can't stay out late. And if you meet me on the corner, where we parted yesterday, we can avoid Vera."

"That…sounds like a clever plan." He glanced down at the form in his hand. "You're looking for a birth certificate for Margaret Debuchy?"

Kate frowned at the suddenly blank look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he shook his head quickly. "I just expected the same last name is all." He flashed another smile. "Be back in a minute."

It wasn't until he walked away that Kate realized she'd given Charles's name as her own.

* * *

_**A/N: ** _I think this chapter feels a little weird, but I promise everything is there for a reason.

necking = kissing passionately, making out  
the Standard = Philadelphia theater built in 1888, known for its jazz performances in the 1920s and 30s


	17. Chapter 17

**November 11, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

Kate and Augie were walking back from the tavern they'd shared a late dinner at, the silence between them uncommon but not uncomfortable. It was their third date in less than a week, and Kate was bemused by his enthusiasm to spend so much time with her.

Augie was sweet. He was respectful and always full of questions. She'd hoped to go dancing, but he seemed more interested in sitting in cafés or diners and chatting. She'd done her best to brush off some of his more personal questions, trying to divert his attention to other things rather than lie about who she is. And even her constant brush-offs didn't seem to dissuade him.

Two nights before, after sharing slices of pie, he had walked her to the door of 6 Strawberry St., tipped her chin up with his finger, and kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that entirely made up for the lack of dancing, the kind that made her weak in the knees, the kind that suggested he was something more than just sweet and respectful.

When Augie had walked away and Kate stepped through the door, Etienne took one look at the smile on her face, rolled his eyes, and waved her on to the basement, where she followed the tunnel connecting his basement to the Bureau's basement.

As she and Augie walked down Market at the end of their third date, Kate slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow, walking just a little bit closer to him.

…

Maksim crouched on the edge of the Bureau's roof, scanning the buildings on the horizon. He was oddly pleased to be back in Philadelphia.

His time in Chicago had been more fruitful than he had hoped. He had done as Charles directed and kept his hands clean, focusing only on gathering information. Both O'Banion and the second Templar from the train met gruesome ends through no doing of Makim's. It was their own greed and stupidity that got them both killed. Maksim just happened to be in town for it all. And as soon as he heard about O'Banion's death, he jumped on the next train back to Philadelphia.

While he was excited to be able to share the news that Katherine was safe and that they could both return home, he was anxious about seeing her again. The way they parted hadn't settled well with him, and he had never been able to shake his discomfort at having left her behind in the first place.

He was confused by these feelings as well as by his own inability to simply brush them aside. He knew what O'Malley would tell him were he to ask. And he knew what his mother would say. O'Malley believed firmly that emotions were nothing but distractions, while his mother claimed that the best Assassins retain their humanity at all costs.

Maksim wasn't sure what he believed. He wished he had asked his father before he died. And he wondered where Charles stood on the issue.

…

Kate and Augie were just a couple of blocks away from Strawberry St. when Augie broke the silence.

"Tell me something, Kate. Do you prefer Barrowman or Debuchy?"

"What?" Kate's step faltered and she looked up at Augie. The orange light from the streetlamps cast an eerie glow over his face, the shadow from his bowler hat nearly obscuring his eyes.

"Come now, Kate," he said. "You didn't really think you were fooling anyone, did you?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said calmly, trying to pull her arm from his. But he reached across with his free hand, gripped her forearm tightly, and forced her to keep walking.

"Stop lying to me," he said. And all of the normal warmth in his voice was gone. "I know you aren't who you say you are."

Kate's mind was racing, both trying to piece together what was going on with Augie and trying to determine what her escape options were.

"Augie, please," she said, pulling lightly on her arm again. "You're hurting me."

"I don't want to hurt you, Kate. But I will if you don't tell me what I want to know."

They were just coming up to the alley where the Bureau was. If he underestimated her, she might have a chance to catch him by surprise and get there safely.

"What do you want to know, Augie?" She allowed her voice to shake just a bit.

"I want to know where the artifact is."

Kate stiffened the words. And it all came together in a rush. The way he'd questioned the name on the birth certificate she'd asked for. All of his inquiries about her childhood and her family. He was even wearing a bowler, just like the Templars in Chicago and in San Diego.

…

Maksim was contemplating how he would respond to Katherine if she were genuinely mad at him for leaving when he caught sight of two figures just at the mouth of the alley. He focused his attention on them for a moment. He was too far to hear anything, and it was just dark enough that he couldn't make out who it was. But he could tell it was a man and a woman, walking arm in arm, just as she had seen Katherine do when they first met Jack Pritzker. He remembered her looping her arm through his once, too, the day they left San Diego.

Just as his thoughts again drifted to Katherine, he heard a yelp echo off the walls of the narrow alley. It was a familiar sound, similar to the one Katherine made every time he snuck up on her. Maksim's eyes darted to the couple. He tensed at the scene at the edge of the alley. The man had the woman pushed up against the wall. From this distance, he couldn't tell if they were simply locked in an embrace or if something was wrong.

Maksim wasn't going to wait to see what happened next. He stood and, with a running start, leapt to the next building over, silently making his way closer to the couple. And with each step closer, the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach grew.

…

"I don't believe you," Augie hissed.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the pain in her arms where he held her against the wall. For the first time since Peter died, she felt nothing but sheer terror.

Again, she stammered, "I d-don't know wh-where it is."

And Augie, quick as lighting, brought his hand hard across her face.

"Try again," he said, grabbing her throat this time. She scrabbled at him with her free hand, eyes widening as she tried to breathe through his crushing grip.

"I'll make this quick, if you just tell me." He leaned close, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear. "I can be gentle, you know."

As if to prove that point, Augie loosened the grip on her throat just enough to let her breathe. She inhaled sharply, the combination of oxygen and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth bringing her situation into clear focus.

He was going to kill her. Even if she knew where that artifact was and told him, he would probably kill her. None of the lessons Sal had been giving her would help. Augie wasn't swinging at her; he had her trapped. She didn't know how to get out of that. She thought of Nana. Of Dutch. Of Peter and her mom. And Charles and Max. And there was only one thing she could do.

With her free hand, the one Augie had abandoned in lieu of choking her, she reached down to her thigh, tugged the hem of her dress up, and grabbed the Derringer from her garter. The moment her hand was wrapped around the pistol, she twisted it between them, dug it deep under Augie's ribcage, and pulled the trigger.

He staggered backwards, wide eyes settling on the pistol now aimed at his chest.

…

Maksim jumped down from the roof at the same moment that Katherine fired the second shot. She stood over the man in the bowler, frozen in place, as he crumpled to the ground.

Maksim knew the gunshots would have been heard. He knew there would be police coming soon.

"Katherine," he said, keeping his voice quiet, not wanting to frighten her.

She spun towards him, gun still raised even though it was out of bullets. Her eyes locked on his, and for several heartbeats she just stared at him.

"Katherine," he repeated, taking a step towards her, hands out in front of him. He wanted to take the gun from her. He wanted to tell her she was safe now. But he didn't get the chance.

She lunged at him, shoving him with both hands to his chest.

"Where the _hell_ have you _been_?" She snarled, shoving him again. And then she was gone, running deeper into the alley.

Maksim stared after her, watching as she entered the door of the Bureau, before crouching next to the body. He quickly searched the man's pockets, removing everything he had and tucking it all into his own pockets. Then, hefting the body over his shoulder, he carried it to one of the nearby garbage bins and dropped the man in. It wasn't the best hiding spot, but it would have to do for now.

…

Kate shouldn't have been surprised to find Charles, Sal, James, and Vera all in the front room of the Bureau when she walked in, but she was. She stumbled to a stop, looking at each of their faces and realizing they must have heard the gunshots outside.

Charles and Sal spoke at once.

"Kate? What's going on?"

"Shit. You're bleeding."

Kate glanced down at herself, realizing the gun was still in her hand and there was a large dark spot in the middle of her coat. She shook her head and tried to answer both questions at once.

"I'm fine. I…I just shot Augie. It's his blood."

"What do you mean you shot Augie?" Charles's voice was calm, but Kate could see the concern in his eyes.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Augie was…a Templar."

"And you shot him?" Vera snorted. "Who gave _you_ a gun anyway?"

"I had to," Kate said levelly. She felt the door open behind her and watched everyone in front of her tense. But she knew it was just Max. Charles gave him a small nod before turning his attention back to Kate.

"He figured out who I was," she continued. "He knew what I was looking for. And he knew you both," she nodded to Sal and Vera. "I had to protect the Brotherhood."

Kate didn't miss the flash of sadness in Charles's eyes as he regarded her before giving a sharp nod and barking orders to the others, Vera to watch for the police's arrival, James to warn Etienne, and Sal to hide the body.

"I already put the body in one of the garbage bins," Max stepped into the circle. "And here is everything he had in his pockets."

Charles nodded, taking the wallet and small collection of papers from Max. "Good. Sal, take the garbage bin to the river. Maksim, give him a hand, would you? And Kate," Charles held her gaze for a moment before saying, "I'll take your coat and the gun. Go wash up and meet me in the kitchen."

…

It was several hours later when Maksim rapped his knuckles lightly on Katherine's bedroom door.

She cracked the door and peered up at him, her eyes widening for a moment. Then, with a small shake of her head, she opened the door wide to let him in. She said nothing as she closed the door softly behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. Maksim studied her for a moment, taking note of the angry red marks blossoming on her neck and cheek and the small cut on her lip. She was staring back at him, clearly waiting for him to speak.

"Are you alright?" He asked finally.

"Yes," she answered softly. "I'm fine."

Maksim tilted his head, knowing she wasn't really fine but not knowing what else to say. "Do you…If you want to talk…" He frowned and looked down at the ground. "I am sorry."

"You're not very good at this, are you?" Her lips twitched as she said it.

"Not really, no," he shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough, Katherine."

"I don't blame you, Maksim," she said, dropping her gaze. "I know what I said when I saw you, but I…I don't blame you. It was my fault. I should have…I should have been more careful. I should have known he was up to something."

"It's easy to say that now," Maksim said, "just as it's easy for me to say that I should have stayed here instead of going to Chicago. But neither statement can change the events that have happened."

When she looked up at him, her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Maksim hesitated before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed next to her and putting an arm awkwardly around her shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here, Max," she murmured. "You're the closest I have to home."

Her voice broke on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands.

And Maksim did the only thing he could think of, the same thing he had done for his mother when his father died. He wrapped both arms around her shoulders, gently pulled her to his chest, and whispered reassurances. Katherine clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, and wept. Maksim closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of her head. He wasn't sure what to call the particular emotion he was feeling, but as he let his words slip into Russian, he knew it wasn't one he could brush aside.

* * *

**_A/N:_** True story: Dean O'Banion was cutting flowers in his flower shop on Nov. 10, 1924 when he was gunned down by three men representing two rival gangs (the Genna family and Torrio/Capone's Chicago Outfit).

Also a true story: Maksim's back!

And a great big thank you to my lovely, loyal readers/reviewers! Emily, Beafstew, OhEyal, Kate, and Bonecrestdragon: you are my favorite people in the world right now. :)

Oh, and Kate, to answer your question: I don't know much manga/anime, but I'm always looking for recommendations of things to read/watch. Once you get your account, send me a PM. We can talk manga/anime, and you can start posting your stories. ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**November 12, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

The scene Maksim encountered in the kitchen was not one he was expecting. Katherine was perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, dressed in trousers and a men's cotton undershirt, a mug of coffee in one hand and a slice of toast in the other.

"Machiavelli," Katherine arched an eyebrow. "_The_ Machiavelli was an Assassin?"

Charles was leaning casually against the counter across from her, coffee and toast also in hand. He chuckled, "Some say his book _The Prince_ was inspired by Ezio Auditore da Firenze, one of our greatest."

Katherine shook her head and muttered, "Next you're going to tell me that Dante was an Assassin, too."

"He was," Charles smirked, taking a sip of coffee.

Katherine let out a laugh. "Of course." She shook her head and popped the last corner of toast in her mouth.

"Good morning, Maksim," Charles smiled.

"Charles," Maksim nodded in return. "Katherine."

"Hi, Max," she grinned at him. He was surprised to see her in such good spirits after the events of the previous night. Aside from the bruising to her neck and face, she looked as though nothing had happened.

He watched as she took a long sip of coffee and slid down from the counter.

"I'd better get downstairs," she said, setting the mug in the kitchen sink. "That punching bag won't punch itself."

She paused in front of Maksim and smiled up at him before reaching up and straightening his tie—which he knew was already straight—and ducking into the hallway behind him.

Maksim turned to Charles. "She is training?"

"She is," Charles nodded and took another sip of coffee.

"She should not be," Maksim frowned. "Not after last night."

Charles snorted. "You think you can stop her?"

Maksim considered this, his frown deepening. "No," he sighed. "Probably not."

Charles chuckled, "It's hard to be in love with a Barrowman, isn't it?"

"I am not in love with her," Maksim replied quickly.

"No?" Charles cocked his head to one side and regarded Maksim for a moment, a faint smile on his lips. "Perhaps not. But you do care about her."

Maksim didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. It was exactly what he had been trying to figure out for the last two weeks. He frowned to himself as he crossed the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. His thoughts about Katherine were gnawing at him. They had been since he left for Chicago, and it had only gotten worse since seeing her again. But something else occurred to him—something Charles had said. After dumping two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, he turned back to Charles.

"Were you in love with Katherine's mother?"

"Was I in love with Mags?" Charles sighed and set his mug on the counter. "The first time I met her, she stabbed me in the arm by accident. And then she refused to let anyone but her bandage it, even though I was perfectly capable of doing it myself." He chuckled and shook his head. "I was in over my head before I even realized it."

Maksim smiled to himself, thinking of Katherine tying his tie for him on the train—a task he could do with his eyes closed.

"How long did you work with her?" He asked, sipping at his sweetened coffee.

"Off and on for…three years, I suppose. Unlike Mags or your parents, who were established in a particular city, I bounced around a lot. Went wherever the Order needed me. Longest I spent in San Diego with Mags was about six months. It was my last assignment before getting brought here to take over the Bureau."

"And how did you…manage? I mean…" Maksim frowned, unsure how to word the question he wanted to ask.

Charles smiled at him and finished the question. "You mean how did I manage working with her and being in love with her at the same time?" When Maksim nodded, relieved the question hadn't offended Charles, the older man's smile turned thoughtful. "How long have you been working under O'Malley?"

Maksim blinked at the change in subject. "Six years," he said. "Ever since my father died."

"And am I right in assuming that O'Malley still preaches that horse shit about emotions being distractions and relationships being liabilities?"

Maksim was a little taken aback at the venom in Charles's voice. He had already picked up on the fact that the two Mentors weren't friendly, but this was genuine dislike.

"Donald O'Malley always was and always will be a self-righteous prick," Charles continued, shaking his head. "And he's wrong. Think about your parents, Maksim. Or any of the families you grew up with. If emotions were such a distraction, do you really think the Order would support communities like the one you grew up in?"

Maksim frowned. "We need families to support the Order," he said, reciting the argument O'Malley always made. But even as he said the words out loud, he knew they sounded off.

"No," Charles sighed. "We need families because we're human. No matter how much we say we believe in the Creed, no matter how _right_ we feel, we still do things that are, at the heart of it, _wrong. _Without families, without emotions and our emotional connections to other people, the 'greater good' we work for becomes meaningless."

"My mother says that we're better when we retain our humanity."

"Your mother is a smart woman," Charles smiled. Then he shook his head. "I hope I haven't knocked O'Malley off of some pedestal for you."

"No," Maksim said honestly. "I respect him and have learned a lot from him, but I haven't always…understood him."

"Well," Charles said, standing up straight and picking up his empty mug. "I have some correspondence to deal with. I highly recommend taking a few minutes to watch Kate and Sal. The…training he's come up with for her is quite entertaining." Before leaving the kitchen Charles put a hand on Maksim's shoulder. "And I realize I didn't really answer your question…about how I managed my feelings for Kate's mother and our work. I think that's a better question for your mother. By all accounts, your parents were happily married, whereas Mags and I…fell apart." He smiled ruefully. "Better to have a success story to look up to than mine."

Maksim finished his coffee and quickly ate a bowl of cereal before heading for the basement. He had already intended on checking on Katherine, but Charles's comment had him intrigued. James caught his attention at the top of the stairs.

"If you're looking for Kate and Sal, they went outside to practice."

"Outside?" Maksim frowned.

James nodded. "I'm heading out to watch. Coming?"

Maksim's eyes went wide when he saw Sal, who was more than a head taller and possibly 75 pounds heavier than Katherine, pinning her to the wall. Just like she had been pinned the night before. But she was relaxed, her eyes intent on Sal's face as he spoke to her.

Maksim leaned against the wall next to James and watched as she nodded and, tentatively, brought her forearms up between her and Sal's chests. Sal nodded and, as she moved her arms out, Sal released his grip. They repeated the motion a few more times before Sal noticeably tightened his grip on her arms and leaned into her.

Maksim could just make out her face as she struggled, actually struggled, against him. She was having trouble getting her forearms up. Sal backed off a little and explained that speed and momentum were crucial.

"You could also just kick him in his jewels," James called loudly. Sal and Katherine shot him matching glares and returned to what they were doing.

Maksim's thoughts drifted to his conversation with Charles. Even though Charles hadn't really given him an answer to the question that was bothering him the most, he still felt better about the whole situation. Better, at least, about acknowledging that he _did_ care about the woman who was currently trying to escape the grip of a man nearly twice her size.

Lost in his thoughts, however, Maksim didn't notice someone else step into the alley. In fact, no one did until the man's shout echoed through the narrow alley as he raced straight for Sal. Just as the man swung at Sal, Sal twisted and shoved Katherine away from him. He caught a glancing blow on the side of his face, and Katherine stumbled to the ground.

Maksim was at her side in an instant, helping her up and drawing her away from the brawl unfolding between Sal and the newcomer. Both men had their fists raised and eyes narrowed. But that only lasted a moment before Sal took a swing. The other man blocked it and responded with a sharp uppercut. And Sal matched it with a right hook, knocking the man's hat off and drawing blood.

Katherine, who Maksim was still holding on to with an arm around her waist, inhaled sharply. And in the same moment that Maksim recognized the newcomer, Katherine breathed, "Dutch."

Dutch and Sal were well matched. What Dutch lacked in weight, he made up for in height. And while Sal was an accomplished pugilist, Dutch had clearly learned to fight on the streets and knew a few tricks Sal wasn't ready for. In a matter of seconds, both men were bleeding.

Katherine glanced up at Maksim and said sharply, "We have to stop them."

And then she was gone from his arms and jumping in front of Sal. Maksim lunged for Dutch, grasping his arms from behind, while Katherine put her back to Sal and spread her arms.

"Stop! Dutch, please!" She shouted.

Between Maksim holding Dutch's arms back and the look on Katherine's face, Dutch froze. Sal had stopped as well, his face a mask of confusion and anger.

But before any of them could say or do anything, Charles swung the door to the Bureau open and marched into the alley with James on his heels. Maksim hadn't even noticed James slip away.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Charles demanded, looking more threatening that Maksim realized he was capable of.

Dutch stared at Charles, Charles was glaring at Sal, and Sal was looking down at Katherine, still standing in front of him like a human shield. And Katherine turned to Maksim, cheeks burning red and eyes wide.

Maksim loosened his grip on Dutch's arms and turned to face Charles.

"This is Dutch," he said calmly.

Charles's eyes darted around the scene in front of him before settling on Katherine. Her cheeks darkened even more, and she looked down at the ground.

"Alright," Charles sighed. "Everybody inside."

Maksim stepped aside and watched as Katherine put a hand to Sal's chest and whispered an apology before grabbing Dutch's hand and leading him into the Bureau behind Charles and James.

A few short minutes later, Dutch and Sal both had ice on their faces and everyone, save Vera, who was still sleeping after her night shift, was sitting around the dining room table.

"Right," Charles said. "I'm sure that everyone had questions about everyone else, but I get to start. Am I right in assuming that you," he looked pointedly at Dutch, "saw Sal and Kate fighting in the alley or some similar situation, and rushed in to help her?"

Dutch nodded. "He had her pinned to the wall." Maksim could still hear a hint of anger in his voice.

"I see," Charles said. "That explains the blood and bruises. What it doesn't explain is how you came to be in the alley in the first place."

"I got a letter from Katie saying she was staying to look for her family, and I...well, I guess I thought I could help. I was just walking by when I saw them." Dutch glanced at Sal and added, "Even if it wasn't Katie, I would've stepped in."

"Noble," Charles nodded. "But where exactly were you headed before you saw them?"

"6 Strawberry Street," Dutch replied, pulling an envelope from his pocket. "That was the address Nana…Ms. Barrowman, I mean…was sending her telegram to."

Katherine's eyebrows shot up. She opened her mouth to say something, but Charles held a hand up and stopped her.

"And does Ms. Barrowman know you took that address from her and left?"

Dutch dropped his gaze to the table and muttered, "Not exactly."

"Are you kidding, Dutch?" Katherine blurted. "Nana's going to _murder_ you."

Dutch's eyes snapped to hers. "What was I supposed to do, Katie? You _left_. You said three weeks, and then you write to say you're _staying_? And Nana wouldn't tell me a damn thing. How was I supposed to know you'd found your dad?"

Sal and James both gaped at Dutch. Maksim's looked from Katherine, whose eyes were wider than he'd ever seen them, to Charles, whose face had gone pale. They were staring at each other. Dutch looked back and forth between Katherine and Charles and shook his head.

"The chin," Dutch said, pointing. "And the eyes." He glanced around the table. "What? Am I wrong?"

"No," Maksim said slowly, looking between the two, cataloging the similarities and recounting the stories Charles had told him. An involuntary smile crept across his face. "They just hadn't figured it out yet."


	19. Chapter 19

**November 13, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

"So I'm going to teach you something new today." Sal grinned at Kate. "You ready?"

Kate nodded, shaking out her hands before dropping into the semi-crouch Sal had decided worked best for her.

"Hit me," he said. Standing across from her, his own fists raised. Kate shot a glance over at Dutch, who was leaning against the basement wall, watching.

"Come on, Kitchen Kate," Sal shook his head. "You've had an audience before. Don't let pretty boy over there distract you."

Kate returned her focus to Sal and swung a weak cross at him. He easily blocked her with his forearm and brought his other fist up towards her, stopping just a few inches from the side of her head.

"This," he said, "is something you'll have a hard time doing since you're so small."

Kate scowled at him. Dutch chuckled. Sal just grinned and dropped his arms. "Hit me again."

She did, a little harder this time. And Sal twisted fractionally to the side, letting Kate's fist slip harmlessly past him. Again, he countered with a quick jab of his own, only lightly tapping her chin at the end.

"You _react_," Sal said. "Dutch and I talked about this last night, and he gave me an idea. You seem to always be at your best when you're reacting to something. So let's build on that, teach you the _right_ _way_ to react." He dropped back and nodded. "Hit me again, and watch what I do."

Kate repeated the process and watched Sal, again, twist away and immediately counter with a punch of his own.

"You see it?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Good." He dropped back again, raising his fists. "I'm going to swing at you. If you don't get out of the way fast enough, you'll have a nice shiner to go with the rest of that mess you're calling a face right now."

Kate's retort was on the tip of her tongue when she realized Sal's fist was headed for her. She ducked and covered her face with her hands.

"What the hell, Sal?" She shouted.

"I told you I was coming," he laughed. "You got out of the way, but not the way I wanted you to. Do it again."

This time, Kate was ready for him. She realized he was swinging slower than normal, but she still only just twisted away from him.

"Close," he said. "Again. This time, use your shoulders more and keep your eyes on me."

Confused by what seemed like contradictory instructions, Kate didn't move fast enough, and Sal's fist clipped her chin.

"Shit, Sal." She glared at him, rubbing her chin.

"Language, Katie, language," Dutch chuckled.

And Sal shook his head, "Do it again."

This time, she twisted her shoulders away and his fist slipped right past her.

"Good," he said, grinning. "Now, in that same movement, give me a quick, straight jab. Chin. Stomach. Whatever feels most natural. Use your momentum. And don't worry about hurting me. I don't need to look pretty for anyone."

Kate rolled her eyes but did as he said, her jab hitting him in the abdomen. He took the hit with a small "_oof_" and nodded. "Good. Again."

They repeated the same movements over and over, Sal's punches getting faster each time. And the faster Sal got, the harder Kate hit him in return. Eventually, Sal started aiming his hits at a slightly different angles, making Kate slip to the other side or turn further. And her counters strayed from his stomach, depending on what he did. Sal caught a glancing blow on his chin and responded quickly with a jab of his own. Kate swayed to the side, only barely avoiding Sal's fist. He straightened and grinned at her.

"Nice one," he said. When she blinked at him, shaken out of her concentration, he laughed and reached over to ruffle her hair. "Now I know what works. We'll do more tomorrow, but for now, it's you and the punching bag. I'm tired of getting beat up by the help."

Kate glanced over at Dutch again, and he flashed her a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement.

He had been surprisingly easy going about the whole situation. Kate had been afraid he would be furious with her for lying about her trip and what she was doing. But when she finally got a moment alone with him, after hours of explanation around the dining room table, Dutch had pulled her into a tight hug. And when Kate started crying and begging him to forgive her, he'd just held her tighter and said, "I could never stay mad at you, Katie."

And, with Charles's permission—and Nana's after a few telegrams were exchanged—he'd agreed to stay for a week. She smiled to herself and turned back to the punching bag.

Sal usually stood behind it and talked to her while she was working, but today he opted to join Dutch on the other side of the room and watch, occasionally shouting out pointers or telling her to hit harder or faster. After a few minutes, Dutch chimed in. Kate shot him a glare, but he just pointed at the punching bag and smirked.

"Focus, Katie."

An hour later, Sal let her go, and she joined Dutch on the stoop of the Bureau's alley door.

Dutch took a long drag from his cigarette and glanced over at Kate.

"I never thought I'd see you throwing punches like that."

Kate rubbed the palm of her hand, stretching her fingers in front of her. "Can you picture my mom doing it? Or Nana?"

Dutch chuckled. "Nana, absolutely. Your mom though…" He took another drag of his cigarette and shook his head as he exhaled. "I'm not sure."

"Everyone says she had a mean right hook," Kate shrugged.

"You know this is all completely crackers, right?" Dutch looked over at her again, eyebrows raised.

"I know," Kate sighed. "It feels like something straight out of a storybook—secret orders and ancient artifacts." She shook her head. "But it's true. All of it."

Dutch flicked ash from his cigarette and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"And these Templars…these are the bastards that killed Peter?"

Kate nodded. "Max told me I shot one. That night."

"What?" Dutch stopped, cigarette halfway to his lips. "You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't know at the time," she shrugged. "I remember firing at them as they were running away. I had no idea I'd hit anything, but Max was there. He was tracking those guys. And he told me I killed one of them." She stared down at her hands, flexing her fingers again. "So I killed a Templar in July and another one just the other night." She let out a mirthless laugh. "And mom didn't want me to know about any of this."

Dutch balanced his cigarette between his lips and put an arm around Kate's shoulders. She leaned into the familiar bulk of him and sighed.

"Wonder what she'd have to say to me now."

"I bet she'd be proud of you, Katie," Dutch said, taking the cigarette in his other hand and flicking the ash off. "It's not like you had a choice the other night anyway. You look like shit, you know."

"Thanks," Kate snorted. Then shook her head. "Charles won't let me go anywhere until the bruises go away."

Dutch nodded, taking a final drag from his cigarette and stubbing it out on the ground by his feet.

"Women don't walk around all bruised up too often," he said. "And…if I understood everything yesterday, it sounds like that guy's friends are looking for you."

Kate nodded. "James was going to check in on things today."

"At least you seem to have good people looking out for you. I'm not sure I'd want to leave you here if you didn't."

"They are good people," Kate agreed, smiling to herself.

Dutch squeezed her shoulder, and a comfortable silence stretched between them.

After a few minutes, Dutch chuckled, "So did Charles ask you to call him _dad_?"

Kate rolled her eyes and poked Dutch in the ribs with a finger. "You're real proud of yourself for figuring that one out aren't you?"

"Maybe," he grinned.

Kate shook her head. "No. Charles…well, to be honest, we didn't really talk about it. I mean, we're pretty sure you're right." Dutch scoffed, and Kate poked him again. "The timing is right, and we do look alike, if you pay attention, but…mom never told him a thing." She sighed. "I'm not sure he really wants to worry about having a daughter."

"Damn," Dutch frowned. "Sorry, Katie."

"It's alright," she shrugged then grinned up at him. "You know, you're going to be disappointed at the lack of pretty girls he—" And Kate yelped when James landed in front of them with a soft thud.

"_Shit_, James."

"You've been spending too much time with Sal," James replied. Normally, he'd be grinning at her in this situation. But he wasn't. He quickly shook his head and, in an unusually grim tone, said, "You're needed in the dining room." He glanced at Dutch and added, "Both of you."

Everyone was gathered around the table again, including Vera, who looked particularly put out at having to be there, and Etienne. Kate settled into a seat between Max and Dutch.

"Right," Charles said, placing his hands on the table in front of him. "Now that we're all here, we have some news to discuss," he said calmly, looking around the table but passing quickly over Kate. "It turns out that there is a contract out on Kate. Lavezzi's boys tipped us off late last night, and James confirmed with de Winter this morning."

Kate felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, all of the air leaving her lungs at once. A _contract_. Half of the table was looking at Charles, the other half at her. And for a moment, no one spoke.

"Who's involved?" Etienne interrupted, leaning his elbows on the table.

"According to Lavezzi, just Duffy so far. But the thieves and de Winter's girls are all keeping their ears to the ground. The good news," Charles glanced around the table, "is that the contract doesn't mention us at all, so they don't know we have her."

"The bad news?" Sal prompted.

And Charles sighed. "It's not a hit. They want her alive and unharmed."

"So send her home." Vera responded immediately. "Even if they don't know she's with us, she's already compromised Etienne's place."

"We can't just dump her on the street," Sal blinked at Vera. "Even you're not that cold, Vera."

Vera shrugged, but Etienne spoke up. "She has a point," he said, looking at Charles. "It might be best to get her out of the city."

"They've already got eyes on Broad Street Station," James frowned. "By the time we got her out of the neighborhood safely, they'd probably have the other stations here and in New York covered."

"So she dresses like a boy," Vera shrugged. "Isn't that the only thing she's good at anyway?"

Kate felt anger bubbling up and opened her mouth to respond, but Max put a steady hand on her arm. She grit her teeth and sat back.

"No," Sal shook his head firmly and turned to Charles. "She's part of the Order. We can't just send her away because she upset the local Templars."

"Why not?" Vera snorted. "It's not like she's useful."

"Charles," Etienne said, "I know you like taking in your strays…no matter how feral," he shot a glance at Vera before continuing, "but a Novice barely into training, and a woman at that, is not a particularly crucial asset. Is the girl really worth the effort? She may have gotten lucky the other night, but she clearly doesn't have—"

"That's my daughter you're talking about," Charles growled suddenly.

The entire table went still. Even Vera, who had been glaring at Etienne, was staring wide-eyed at Charles.

And Dutch broke the silence with a loud laugh. "Well that answers that question." Then, turning serioius, he said, "Look, I know I'm the outsider here, but won't they let up after a few weeks? Can't we make them think she's gone, keep her here, then get her out later?" He looked pointedly at Vera. "Why not have Lips here pretend to be Katie and buy a train ticket? She obviously believes can handle herself if they come after her at the station. And Katie stays here nice and safe 'til the coast is clear."

Vera's face turned red when Dutch called her Lips, and Kate had to bite her lip to keep from grinning.

"We could also have Cunningham and Pritzker drop hints that she is in Chicago," Max finally spoke up, nodding his approval to Dutch. "And she could go to the Homestead to finish her training when it is safe enough to travel."

"That…is a decent plan," Etienne said slowly.

Charles looked around the table. Sal and James both nodded. Vera pursed her lips but gave no real indication of approval or disapproval. When he finally looked to Kate, she held his gaze, trying to read his thoughts in his face. She wasn't even sure what he was really asking her. All she saw was the same calm expression he usually had. And then the corners of his mouth twitched, ever so slightly. And she nodded.

"Right," Charles said, turning back to Etienne. "We have some false leads to create."

* * *

**_A/N:_** I'm not sure how clear it is, but just in case it's not, Lavezzi and de Winter are my characters representing the thieves' guild and the "courtesans" in Philadelphia.

Mickey Duffy, however, is not one of my characters; he was a particularly violent and powerful mobster/bootlegger in Philadelphia during Prohibition.

And the Homestead…yes, it's _that_ Homestead. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**November 28, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

Maksim settled into a chair at the far end of the dining table.

The Bureau was quiet. Etienne and Charles were at the other end of the table, poring over some accounting documents. Vera was there as well, also eating dinner. But everyone else was out. James was scouting the train stations and keeping tabs on some of the men who were looking for Katherine. And Sal and Dutch were down at the docks, working on some leads with Tuck and the rest of Lavezzi's thieves' guild.

Dutch staying longer than his planned one week was Maksim's suggestion. He had watched Dutch and Katherine interact with interest. It was hard to miss how close they were, casually affectionate and full of in-jokes. Dutch had also settled in with the others quickly as well. Sparring and trading tips with Sal, discussing baseball with James, and with Vera—well, Dutch matched Vera's incessant flirting with his own, borderline lecherous, flirtations.

And it was obvious to Maksim that Dutch's presence was good for Katherine. Her spirits were up, despite being "held prisoner" in the Bureau, as she called it.

Towards the end of Dutch's week-long visit, Maksim sought him out. He didn't normally like to meddle in others' affairs, but he had begun to worry how Katherine would fare when Dutch left. He had found Dutch in the basement watching Sal and Katherine. Maksim had simply leaned against the wall next to Dutch and asked the other man if he was sure he wanted to leave.

Dutch didn't speak; he just sighed and shook his head. So Maksim suggested he stay.

Dutch had laughed at first. "Like it's that simple," he'd scoffed.

And Maksim had shrugged. "Is it not?" When Dutch didn't respond right away, Maksim added, "I think it would make Katherine happy if you came with us to the Homestead."

The smile on Katherine's face when Dutch told her he was staying was probably the brightest Maksim had seen.

Maksim was jolted from his thoughts by Katherine marching into the dining room, bringing a gust of cold air with her.

Her bruising had healed—healed enough that Etienne had enlisted her help with one of his jobs. As a Novice, she shouldn't be allowed to go on a job alone. And it was clear to everyone at the Bureau that Etienne was not convinced of Katherine's skills. So Maksim had been surprised when he heard that Katherine was going out on her own to tail a politician visiting from New York. But when he asked Charles about it, Charles had just shrugged and said, "Etienne wanted to challenge her." And then explained that arriving at the Homestead with the support of a Master Assassin who _wasn't_ her father would be helpful.

Maksim watched as Katherine tossed a key onto the table. It skidded to a stop in front of Etienne. He raised his eyes to meet hers and frowned.

"I had no trouble finding Wheatley. He's staying at the Bellevue Stratford, room 917." Katherine said without preamble. Etienne said nothing and leaned back in his chair. She continued, "Turns out he's in town for a meeting with Congressman Graham and a few others."

Maksim watched her carefully, something odd in her tone catching his attention. She was dressed in her trousers and newsboy cap, hair carefully tucked away. She was also wearing a rather worn wool coat, a size too big to fit her disguise as a street kid. But the tone didn't quite match the way she spoke while in disguise. It sounded almost _distant_. And then he noticed that her left hand was not tucked into her coat pocket like the other one. Instead she was holding that arm stiffly at her side.

"Anything else?" Etienne asked, sounding bored with the conversation.

"The meeting is day after tomorrow, noon, the Clover Room on the southeast corner of the 19th floor." Etienne's eyebrows slowly rose as she continued to rattle off information. "Graham and Wheatley will be there. So will District Attorney Winne from New Jersey, someone named Mackey—"

"Probably Harry Mackey," Charles supplied.

Etienne frowned. "That's not your typical political meeting."

"No, it's not" Katherine said levelly. "Especially not when Mickey Duffy and Frank Costello from New York will also be there."

"Christ," Charles muttered, looking over at Etienne. "Looks like the list of potential Grandmasters just got shorter."

Maksim glanced at Vera. Etienne had assassinated the previous Grandmaster earlier in the year, and Vera had been tasked with uncovering the identity of his successor. The news that Katherine had found out information about Vera's job would not go over well. And just as Maksim was expecting, Vera was scowling at Katherine. Katherine, however, didn't seem to care. Maksim frowned, noticing that her stiff posture hadn't changed at all since she first spoke.

"Actually," she said. "It's quite a bit shorter than that. Kendrick has taken over."

Etienne snorted. "You think the Mayor is the Grandmaster?"

Katherine shook her head. "His cousin, Murdock. The lawyer. He's staying in room 1802," she nodded slightly to the key on the table. Maksim kept his gaze on Katherine, carefully watching her restrained movements, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed Vera push away from the table and stand.

"There's no way _you_ got all of that information by following some low-level New York politician." Vera pointed a finger at Katherine, her painted red lips curling up in a sneer.

"I only got some of it from Wheatley," Katherine admitted. "The rest I got from Duffy, who's quite a bit less cautious with what he says in public."

Maksim watched Charles's eyes go wide. "_Duffy_ was there?"

Katherine nodded. "I tailed him and his men for two hours."

Etienne muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I was afraid of that."

And Charles narrowed his eyes at the Master Assassin.

"You knew Duffy might be there? And you sent Kate in anyway?"

Etienne shrugged. "You said she was good in disguise."

At that, Vera let out huff of air, snatched her dinner plate from the table, and stormed out of the dining room. Katherine still didn't move.

"She is. As you can see." Charles said, his voice turning cold. "But as you keep reminding me, she is still a Novice, still untested. I let you run her on this with the understanding that it would be simple and safe and within her existing skill set. But you sent her into a situation that you _knew_ could be potentially dangerous. And not just for her, but for the Order. There is a Piece of Eden out there, an artifact that only Kate is able to find at this point..." Charles shook his head and softened his tone ever so slightly. "Etienne, you asked to be here, correct? You want to learn how to run a Bureau?" When Etienne nodded, Charles continued, "Well, one of the first things you need to do is pay closer attention to the big picture—not just watch your own tasks. Being a Bureau leader is not just about managing assets. It is about the people who serve under you and how those people work together to serve the goals of the Order."

Maksim was impressed with the way Charles spoke with Etienne, managing to reprimand him without insulting him. Though clearly unhappy with the situation, Charles still took the time to ensure that Etienne understood _why_. This, Maksim decided, was what it meant to be a _Mentor_, not just run a Bureau. O'Malley would have just raged and sent Etienne away.

When he returned his attention to the conversation, Charles was suggesting that Etienne apologize to Vera for interfering in her work. And Etienne nodded, first to Charles, then to Katherine.

Once he had left the dining room, Charles let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry about the situation you were put in today, Kate," he said. "But I'm proud of you. You seem to have managed quite well." He glanced at the key that was still sitting on the table. "How did you get the key anyway?"

"From a bellman named Archie. In exchange for a couple of cigarettes."

Maksim resisted the urge to smile. Only Katherine would charm her way to the key instead of just pickpocketing it.

"Well done," Charles said, picking up the key. "Since you spent so much time eavesdropping on Duffy, did you learn anything else that might be of use?"

Katherine tugged on the brim of the newsboy cap she was still wearing. But Maksim noticed it was the hand that had been in her pocket, not the one that she was still holding stiffly at her side.

"He's…he figured out that I wasn't really in Chicago. He suspects the Order is involved and is upset about it. He sounds afraid of us."

"Oh?" Charles arched an eyebrow.

Katherine nodded. "It sounded like he might back off. At least until he's offered more money."

"I see. That could be good for us. For you." Charles nodded. "And what happened to your arm? Or is it your shoulder?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly. Maksim narrowed his eyes at her as she shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Katherine," Maksim said. "Even I can tell something is wrong."

"Of course you can," she sighed. "It's your job to be perceptive." He recognized the line he had once given her. And there was nothing in her voice but resignation.

"It's yours now as well, Kate" Charles chuckled. "So what happened?"

"It's cold out there," she frowned. "Really, really cold. Cold enough to freeze puddles."

"You slipped," Maksim guessed. And she nodded.

"I missed my landing and hit the fire escape. It's my ribs…not my arm."

Concern creased Charles's brow. "Does it hurt to breathe?"

Maksim was about to ask the same thing, wondering if she had broken her ribs. But she shook her head.

"Just if I move too much."

"Likely not broken then. Ice and aspirin should do the trick." Charles smiled and added, "I got your coat back today, by the way. Good as new and just in time for your trip to Massachusetts." His smiled faded, and he looked down at the key in his hand. "I have some things to take care of, I guess."

As Charles walked out of the room, Maksim said, "I can bring the ice and aspirin to your room, if you want to change."

Katherine nodded, smiling faintly. "Thank you, Max."

After wrapping some ice cubes in a kitchen towel and grabbing the aspirin and a glass of water, Maksim knocked on Katherine's door.

She let him in without a word.

It was the first time he'd been in her bedroom since the night she shot Augie. The first time since she'd been stuck indoors with nothing to do but train, dig through the rest of the Bureaus' boxes of junk, and pore over her notes. And since then, everything she had found about her family had been pinned to the wall above her desk.

He handed her the aspirin and ice and, while she sat on the edge of her bed and held the ice to her side, he leaned over the desk to examine her findings. He saw the names she'd found: Debuchy and Barrowman, multiple Margarets and a Wren. There was a map of Philadelphia with three red dots, one of which he recognized as the old Bureau's location. She had told him about everything she had found, but _seeing_ it all like this was something else entirely.

He studied what was obviously her main list—a family tree of sorts. It began with Cecily Barrowman and ended with Katherine. She only had concrete dates of birth for a few, only knowing what her grandmother knew and what she'd found from the single birth certificate she saw at City Hall.

But she had made note of when Margaret Debuchy had joined the Order. His eyes lingered on that date, a history lesson from his father creeping into his mind.

"Katherine," he turned back to face her, leaning back against the desk. "Have you read about the history of the Order in the United States?"

"Not yet. Charles made me start at the beginning with the Levantine Assassins." She rolled her eyes and added, "And Charles _really_ likes to talk about history." Then, tilting her head, she asked, "Why do you ask?"

"There was an attack…" Maksim frowned, trying to remember the exact date. "In 1762 or 63. I can't remember now." He shook his head. "But the Templars destroyed the Brotherhood here. The few who survived went into hiding."

"So how is it that we're here now?" She asked, wincing slightly as she shifted where she was holding the ice to her side.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton single handedly rebuilt the order."

Katherine blinked at him. "Ra-doon…say that again."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton. He was half native. There was an English name he used as well, but I can't remember it right now. Charles would be upset at my poor memory of this." He shook his head as other parts of the story came back to him. "It was during the Revolutionary War. He was trained by one of the Assassins who had survived and had been hiding, and he started recruiting and training others, spreading them throughout the states…well, colonies at the time. But if your ancestor…" He looked at her list of names again. "If Margaret Debuchy joined the Order in 1773, she was probably trained by Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Cripes. I have no idea what that name would even look like written down," Katherine frowned. "But I don't think I've seen anything like it."

"No?" Maksim rubbed his hand along his jaw. "Well, we might still be able to find something, since he worked out of the Davenport Homestead."

And he couldn't help but smile as her eyes went wide.

"As in _the_ Homestead? As in the place in Massachusetts we're supposed to be going to?"

He nodded. "If I'm right, you might find everything there."

* * *

**_A/N:_** Wheatley, Graham, and Mackey were all actual politicians known to be actual members of the Knights Templar (which is not quite the same as our Templars, but close). Winne wasn't a Knights Templar as far as I know, but he was a sleazy DA for New Jersey who had "issues" enforcing Prohibition there. And Frank Costello, like Duffy, was another key bootlegger and mobster. I don't know that all these guys ever met together, but could you imagine what they would be up to if they did? Nothing good, that's for sure. Also, I realized I forgot to post a picture of Etienne to tumblr a few chapters ago. He's posted now, if you're interested. He has an amazing mustache.


	21. Chapter 21

**November 29, 1924, Philadelphia, PA**

Kate had watched Sal and Vera spar. She'd seen Sal and Dutch on numerous occasions. And she'd even seen a surprisingly even match between Sal and James. But this morning was the first time she'd caught Sal and Max squaring off.

Kate hadn't been expecting them to be fighting when she walked down to the basement to tell Sal she couldn't train. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs just as Max smoothly sidestepped one of Sal's heavy punches, his face as calm and impassive as ever. Sal, on the other hand, looked a little frustrated. And tired.

And that was when Kate registered that both men were shirtless. Sal was built like a bear, all thick muscle and dark chest hair. Max was quite a bit smaller than Sal, of course, but there was no question of his strength. He was just as Kate had imagined, lean and wiry. Kate watched the muscles in his back contract and shift as he landed a series of quick punches to Sal's kidney. Sal pulled away with a grimace, and they circled. And just as Max started to turn to face her again, just as she caught a glimpse of his broad chest and a set of thin scars angled across his shoulder, Dutch interrupted her observation with a loud whisper.

"You're drooling, Katie."

Her eyes snapped to Dutch, to the smirk on his face. And she rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, finally stepping the rest of the way into the basement.

"Oh, c'mon, Katie. I know you better than that," Dutch chuckled, reaching out and ruffling her hair. "I'm supposed to be the one getting distracted by pretty faces."

She swatted his hand away. "Knock it off, Dutch."

He shook his head. "What happened to you staying away from bellbottoms and flyboys?"

"Max isn't a flyboy," she scoffed.

"Oh," Dutch raised his eyebrows. "So it's _Max_ you were ogling."

Kate's eyes went wide. "That's not—I didn't—" She snapped her mouth shut and turned away from Dutch. But the only other thing to look at was Max and Sal, who were still sparring and completely oblivious to Dutch's teasing and Kate's embarrassment. She leaned against the wall and tried to watch Sal and Max without really watching them. But she could already tell it was too late, her cheeks were burning. And sure enough, Dutch noticed.

"Wait, Katie…are you _actually_ blushing?"

She shot him a withering glance and didn't answer. His grin quickly faded, and he settled against the wall next to her.

"Damn," he muttered. "Sorry." Then after a moment said softly, "I haven't seen you goofy about a guy in a long time."

"I'm not _goofy_ about anyone," she retorted.

"Right," Dutch drawled, nudging her lightly with his elbow. "Now that I think about, I'm surprised I didn't notice earlier. I mean, you don't let _anyone_ call you Katherine."

"He only calls me Katherine because I call him Max," she shook her head.

"And why _do_ you call him Max?"

"Because he hates it," she shrugged. That was why it started anyway. She wasn't actually sure why neither of them had stopped.

"Of course," Dutch nodded, a smug grin teasing at the corner of his mouth. "So how do you explain the fact that every time Vera talks to Maksim, you look like you're trying to kill her with your eyes? Or the fact that you grin like a loon whenever he walks into the room?"

"I do _not_ grin like a loon," she turned to him, blushing all over again.

"You do, too," he laughed. "And the other day, when he was trying to—"

But Dutch was interrupted by Vera, who blustered into the basement.

"You spoiled little bitch," she snarled, jabbing a finger into Kate's chest. Kate's eyebrows shot up and she straightened, backing against the wall.

"Excuse me?" Kate blurted.

At the same moment, Dutch reached for Vera's shoulder. "What the hell, Vera?"

"You stay out of this," she spat at him, shoving his arm away from her. Vera turned back to Kate and leaned in close, close enough that Kate could smell her perfume. "First you steal Sal from me, then you make up some nonsense to convince Charles he's your daddy, and now Etienne won't stop blathering about your potential."

Kate clenched her jaw. She wanted to respond. She wanted to throw Vera's arrogance and selfishness back at her, but Charles had told her to try and keep her cool.

"I've worked my tail off to get where I am, and you just waltz in here with your sob story," Vera's voice canted up in register as she mocked, "_Oh, poor me. My mom lied to me. I don't know who my daddy is. A Templar shot my friend_—"

"Don't you dare," Kate hissed, clenching her fists. She drew the line at Peter.

"Or what?" Vera shouted. "What are you going to do? You can't fight. You can't even run rooftops without breaking your ribs. It's no wonder you got your friend killed."

Kate was vaguely aware that Sal and Max had stopped sparring. She might have seen Dutch, again, try to pull Vera away from her. But the only thing that truly registered in her mind was a satisfying crunch as her fist connected solidly with Vera's nose.

In the next moment, Dutch's arms were around Kate, his body between her and Vera's, and Sal was grabbing Vera by the waist, dragging her away in the other direction. Kate calmly peered around Dutch to see Vera, blood streaming down her face, kicking and spitting curses as she tried to twist out of Sal's grasp. And Sal just picked her up off the ground and carried her up the stairs.

Kate looked up at Dutch, and he backed away, holding her at arm's length.

"You okay?" He asked. Kate nodded. And he studied her face for a moment then let out a low chuckle.

"Bet that felt good," he said, dropping his hands from her shoulders.

"You have no idea," she breathed, shaking out her hand.

And then she looked over at Max, who had put on a shirt and was watching her and Dutch. He shook his head slightly, and she looked down as a wave of guilt washed over her. But before she had a chance to give those feelings any real thought, it was Max's hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him and found, not the disappointment she was expecting, but one of his rare, slight smiles.

"Charles will be less than pleased, I'm sure. But for what it's worth, you should have done that weeks ago."

It was not ten seconds later that Charles marched into the basement. Max immediately dropped his hand and stepped back.

"Would you like to tell me why Vera is in the kitchen with a bloody nose right now?"

Kate barely opened her mouth to respond when Dutch started to answer.

"Vera came down here—"

But Charles held up a hand. "I want to hear it from Kate. I don't think you count as an unbiased observer." He glanced at Max and added, "Either of you."

Dutch snapped his mouth shut, and Max nodded, folding his hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Charles," Kate replied quietly. "I let my temper get the better of me."

"I'm glad you realize that," Charles said, though there was no sign of "glad" in his voice. In fact, he sounded like he was trying to _not_ yell. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"I punched her, sir."

Charles narrowed his eyes at her but turned to Max and Dutch. "If you two don't mind, I'd like to talk to Kate alone." Both men nodded and disappeared up the stairs. And Kate looked down at the ground, folding her hands behind her back the way Max always did.

"You do realize, Kate, that you and Vera are _sisters_ in the same Order? And that energy spent fighting with each other takes away from our real work?"

"Yes, sir."

"And didn't I tell you to not let her get to you?"

"You did, sir."

"So what did she say?"

"It doesn't matter, sir. I shouldn't have hit her."

"Christ, Kate," Charles sighed. "Can you knock it off with the 'sir'? This is hard enough as it is."

Kate blinked up at him. "What?"

"I'm not blind, Kate. I know what's been going on with you and her. And I could tell by the look Sal gave me, and by Dutch's reaction just now, that Vera started this." He shook his head. "Look, I'll deal with Vera. But maybe it's a good idea if you head for the Homestead sooner rather than later. Especially since it sounds like Duffy's backed off for the moment."

Kate nodded slowly. She understood Charles's logic. And while Max's idea that her family might have been at the Homestead at some point had sparked a bit of excitement about the trip, she couldn't help but feel like she was being sent away. It wasn't much of a punishment, since the plan was to go there all along, but it _felt_ like a punishment. The look on Charles's face didn't help the tug of emotions in her chest. His eyes were full of regret.

But the look faded quickly, and he turned his head towards the stairwell.

"Dutch, why don't you come in here. And bring Maksim. I assume he's standing next to you?"

Kate watched Dutch and Max walk into the room, both looking a little sheepish. The look on Max's face actually reminded Kate quite a bit of the night Nana had caught him in their bushes.

"You both heard all of that, yes?" Charles asked, folding his arms across his chest. Both men nodded. And Charles continued, "Good. Dutch, you know Lavezzi's boys pretty well now, right? I want to you go find them. Have them get eyes on Broad Street Station as soon as possible. Kate, send your grandmother a telegram and let her know the price of lobster has gone up. She'll know what it means." Charles smiled at her before turning to Max. "And Maksim, please let Etienne know that he needs to be at the Bureau by 10:30. I'll be escorting the three of you to the train station myself. The Colonial Express leaves for Boston at midnight."

All three nodded, and Max and Dutch turned back towards the stairs.

"Oh, and Maksim," Charles added. "When you get to the Homestead, would you please teach Dutch how to eavesdrop _without_ getting detected?"

"Hey," Dutch complained. "You knew he was there, too."

"That was a lucky guess," Charles grinned. "But I _heard_ you."

When Dutch rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs, Max said, "Don't worry. Ms. Barrowman caught me in her bushes once."

Charles arched his eyebrows and looked to Kate. She nodded in confirmation, and he let out a bark of laughter.

Kate managed to avoid Vera the rest of the day and said her goodbyes to Sal, James, and Etienne. She and Max packed their meager belongings together in his duffel bag again. And she ignored the look Dutch gave her when he realized they had packed together.

They walked to the train station in pairs. Kate and Dutch walked arm in arm, Dutch's duffel bag slung over his shoulder. And Max and Charles followed a few feet behind, deep in conversation about the Homestead.

When they arrived at the train station, Dutch and Max both stepped to the side, busying themselves at the newsstand in a thinly veiled effort to give Kate and Charles a moment to talk alone.

"I guess this is so long," Kate said.

She looked up at him, taking a moment to study his face. She wanted to memorize as many details as she could about that man she never thought she'd know. The more time she spent with him, the easier it was for her to see the resemblance. Her whole life, she'd been told she looked exactly like her mother. But she didn't. She had her father's chin and his hazel eyes. She definitely had her mother's crooked teeth and cupid's bow lips, but there was something in the lines around her smile that was all Charles.

"Listen, I have something for you," Charles said, holding his hand out. "It's…well, I know that necklace you wear used to be your mother's, and I thought I might give you something of mine, too. So that…you have both of us with you."

Kate stared at the ring in the palm of his hand for a moment before carefully picking it up. At first glance, it was just a simple silver band, but as she turned it over in her hand, she saw the familiar triangular symbol of the Assassins etched into it. It was Charles's ring, the one he usually wore on his right hand.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll keep it safe for me." He rested one hand on her shoulder, a gesture he had done many times before.

But Kate responded by looping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He returned the embrace with a small chuckle.

He stepped back and looked down at her. "One last thing before you go. Call it…fatherly advice, if you will. This life...some believe being alone is the only way to do what we do. But it's not. Our friends, our family, they matter. Without them, it's easy to forget who we are and what we work for." Then he nodded in the direction of Max and Dutch. "Those two care about you quite a bit, and they both are trying to take care to you. Make sure you _let_ them."

Kate glanced over at the two waiting patiently for her by the newsstand.

"I will," she said, smiling.

He pulled her into another quick hug. "I have to admit, I'm hesitant to let you go when you've only just found me."

Kate let out a soft laugh. "Does it count if I wasn't looking for you?"

He grinned. "Sometimes we find the best things when we're not looking."


	22. Chapter 22

**November 30, 1924, Rockport, MA**

Maksim closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest. They had just changed trains in Boston and had a little over an hour until they arrived at the Rockport train station where a man named Andrew Miles was to meet them.

Charles had been kind enough to arrange for a compartment to accommodate all three of them, despite it only being a single night trip, but Maksim hadn't been able to sleep, waking frequently. At one point, he had noticed that Katherine was no longer in the room. His first reaction was just that he was impressed she'd managed to leave the compartment without him noticing, something she hadn't been able to do at all when they travelled from San Diego to Chicago.

But when she didn't return within a few minutes, he had slipped out of the compartment himself to look for her. He had found her in the parlor car, writing a letter to her grandmother.

Despite her apparent improved abilities at sneaking away, he still managed to startle her when he'd dropped into the seat next to her. And when he had asked why she was awake, she had admitted that saying goodbye to Charles had been difficult and that she was nervous about going to the Homestead.

In an effort to reassure her, he told her as much as he could about the place they called the Homestead. He ended up comparing what he knew of it to his own home, a small but vibrant community just north of San Francisco that was modeled after the Homestead. Caught up in a wave of sleepy nostalgia, Maksim told Katherine stories about his childhood that he hadn't spoken of in years—stories of rooftop races in the summer and homemade fireworks for New Year's Eve, of epic, multi-family hide and seek games that his mother almost always won, and of getting caught kissing his combat instructor's daughter behind the schoolhouse during one of these games.

"Sounds more like Dutch than you," Katherine laughed. When he shrugged, Katherine had smiled at him and stated, "You miss it."

And maybe he did a little.

The sun was nearly up by the time they returned to the compartment where Dutch was still sleeping soundly. Maksim had tucked thoughts of his home and his family away once again but was unable to go back to sleep. Now that they were on the last stretch of their trip, he was hoping for a short nap.

So he closed his eyes and listened to the familiar rocking of the train until Dutch folded his newspaper and struck up a conversation with Katherine. He had lowered his voice, but not nearly enough to avoid Maksim's attention.

"You know, Katie…I didn't want to ask at the Bureau because I always felt like the walls had ears—"

"They do," Maksim interrupted, eyes still closed.

He felt the other man jump next to him.

"I thought you were sleeping," Dutch grumbled.

"You should know by now, Dutch," Kate laughed at him. "Max is sneaky."

Maksim cracked one eye open and looked across at her. That was one of the first things she'd said to him, back in San Diego. And based on her grin, she remembered.

"Apologies," he said, closing his eyes again. "Carry on with your conversation."

It was quiet for a moment before Dutch spoke again. "I was just going to ask about Charles and your mom. Did he tell you the story?"

At this Maksim opened his eyes and watched Katherine as she nodded.

"He said they were in love. He moved around a lot, but they worked together a few times. And, well, it's my mom." Katherine sighed and turned to Maksim with a small smile to explain, "She was charismatic. She could suck in just about anybody without even trying."

"To put it lightly," Dutch laughed. But it was a laugh tinged with sadness that reminded Maksim that Mags Barrowman had been like a mother to Dutch nearly as much as she was for Katherine. He sat up a little straighter to listen to Katherine tell the story.

"The Bureau in Philadelphia was attacked and nearly decimated in the autumn of 1900, and they needed a new Mentor, someone who was unknown to the Templars there. So Charles was called in to take over and rebuild." She shrugged. "Charles said he asked my mom to come with him. And she said no."

"Do you think she knew she was pregnant when she turned him down?" Dutch asked.

"I don't know," Katherine replied. "He doesn't know either. But he thinks…he thinks she might have said no because of the curse. To protect him. And he said he should have realized it at the time, that he didn't fight for her when he should have."

"She believed in the curse enough to let him go?" Maksim frowned at this idea.

"I guess so," Katherine shrugged again.

"That part still doesn't make much sense to me," Dutch said, shaking his head.

"Max might be able to explain it better. The artifact, I mean."

Maksim nodded and turned to Dutch. "You know about the ongoing war between the Templars and our Order? These artifacts are at the heart of it. They were left behind by an early civilization. Some say they have magical properties, that some let us see the future or deflect bullets." Dutch raised his eyebrows, and Maksim shrugged. "We have been hunting them for centuries, trying to keep them out of the hands of the Templars. Many of them are safely hidden away or have been destroyed, but there are still more out there. The story is that one of Katherine's ancestors was given one of the artifacts to keep safe."

"But it went missing," Katherine explained, taking over the story. "Nana told me there's no record at all of what it was or what happened to it. There's just this story that it was with my family."

"Right," Dutch nodded. "That's why they're after you. And the attacks on your mom and the Bureau back before you were born. But a curse?"

Katherine hesitated, her hand reaching up to her necklace. Maksim watched her carefully as she fingered the collection of pendants.

The necklace was one she always wore but always kept tucked away under her clothes. He had caught flashes of it a few times, and he knew there were two pendants, one was round and gold—a locket, he assumed. And the other was a small, dingy brass key. But now there was also a silver band, a ring he immediately recognized as the one he'd seen Charles give her the night before.

Maksim's eyes slid back to Katherine's face when she started speaking again.

"One version of the story is that whichever ancestor of mine had the artifact kept it for herself. And that we were cursed for her selfishness. That's why there are nine generations of Barrowman women who never got married. We live long enough to produce another daughter then we give our lives to the Order." She looked down at the ring and added quietly, "We don't get to fall in love. Or at least we don't get to keep it."

"That's crackers," Dutch muttered, shaking his head. "There's no such thing as curses."

She shrugged and tucked the necklace away again, standing suddenly. "I'm going to stretch my legs."

Maksim frowned as she stepped out of the compartment without waiting for a response from either him or Dutch. Dutch shook his head.

"She's nervous about this trip," Maksim said.

"I know," Dutch sighed. "She's been playing with her hair. She always does that when she's nervous." Then he arched his eyebrows at Maksim. "You don't believe this curse thing, do you? I mean, artifacts with magical properties? It sounds…" He frowned.

"Crackers?" Maksim suggested. And Dutch snorted.

"Yeah. Exactly."

Maksim nodded. He didn't want to get into the stories he'd heard about the Pieces of Eden, what he actually knew they did. After a few moments, Dutch caught Maksim's eye.

"You're planning on sticking around, right?"

Maksim frowned. "You mean once we get to the Homestead?" When Dutch nodded, he replied, "Of course."

"Good," Dutch nodded. He glanced at the compartment's doorway then back at Maksim. "She likes you, you know. And she's lost enough recently."

Maksim nodded slowly, not sure exactly what Dutch meant or where he was going with the conversation. He decided to focus on the initial question.

"My current assignment is to assist with her search, so I will stay as long as she is looking for the artifact," he explained.

"So it's your job to stay with her?" Maksim heard the hint of disapproval in Dutch's voice, and he realized suddenly that Dutch was asking something else entirely.

"I would have come anyway," he answered. "And I will stay for as long as she wants me to."

Dutch made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat, but Maksim saw the twitch of his lips. And he felt like he had just passed some sort of test.

Maksim leaned back again and closed his eyes, only just registering Katherine's return to the compartment before dozing off for the rest of the trip.

It was easy to spot Andrew Miles once they arrived at the station. He stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest. It was the casual confidence in his posture that gave him away. Maksim made eye contact with the man and headed his way, Dutch and Katherine falling in step behind him. As they approached Miles, Maksim quickly cataloged the man's features. He was above average height, but not as tall as Dutch. His dark brown hair was cropped close, and he had a distinctive nose that may have suggested Italian ancestry.

After brief introductions, Miles led them to a new looking Ford. They piled in, and Miles turned north up a street lined with houses.

"Town's back behind us," Miles explained. "But I figure you can explore that another time, after you've settled in and caught up on sleep. I can never sleep on that blasted train."

Maksim watched a small marina full of boats pass by as Miles kept talking.

"We don't have anything like the big city Bureaus here, so you'll be lodging with Mrs. Koslova," Miles explained. "Lots of folks around here are old-fashioned and weren't too happy about a single woman staying in the same place as two young men, but Mrs. Koslova agreed to it. You two," he glanced at Maksim and Dutch in the backseat, "will have to share a room, but it was best I could manage to keep you all together."

Maksim nodded. "It will be fine, sir. Thank you for your efforts."

And Miles let out rusty sounding laugh. "May not thank me after meeting Mrs. Koslova."

They were only in the car for a few minutes, a short enough distance that Maksim wasn't sure why the automobile was necessary. They turned down a small side-street and stopped in front of a two-story cottage with wood-shingle siding and a dark green porch. The group had just started up the steps to the front door when a dark-haired woman opened the door.

"Hello, Mrs. Koslova," Miles said. "Your new lodgers are here."

"I have eyes," she snapped and held the door open. They all filed into the front room, and Miles handled introductions. Mrs. Koslova stood across from the trio, arms folded just under her breasts, and nodded at each of them. Her frown seemed to be a permanent fixture.

"House rules," she said as soon as names were out of the way. "No smoking in the house. No fighting in the house. No swearing. No guests. I do not clean your rooms or the upstairs washroom. I will wash linens and towels but not your clothing. Breakfast is at 7:00 a.m. and dinner at 6:30 p.m. If you miss a meal, you feed yourself. Questions?"

Dutch and Katherine both answered immediately, echoing each other. "No, ma'am."

Maksim glanced to Miles, who just shrugged. And when he looked back to Mrs. Koslova she was staring at him expectantly.

"Is there a curfew?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So you will be the trouble maker?"

Katherine made a small choking noise as she nearly failed to contain a laugh. Maksim just shook his head.

"Sometimes training sessions are held at night," he offered. "I would not want to be locked out in the cold."

She nodded, apparently satisfied with his response. "No curfew," she said. "Just do not wake me up."

"Understood," Maksim replied solemnly.

Mrs. Koslova turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen, waving a hand in the direction of the stairs. "Go. Unpack."

"Well," Miles said. "Tomorrow's going to be a busy day. I'll be back in the morning to take you three over to the Homestead and do the proper tour and introductions. Just to clarify what's going on: Maksim, you're assignment with Charles is to assist with Kate's research, but I'm going to get you into the training schedule as well."

To Dutch he explained, "And you and I can talk about your role. We don't have a thieves' guild for you to work with, but I have a few ideas."

Then he turned to Kate. "Make sure you get a good night's sleep and are ready to go by 8. I'm going to want to see what you can do tomorrow, Novice."

Just before he walked out the door, he glanced over his shoulder and added, "And good luck with Mrs. Koslova."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Bit of a transition chapter as we get into the final third of the story. New place, new characters. Mrs. Koslova and Miles are up on tumblr. Thanks, as always, for everyone's support!


	23. Chapter 23

**December 1, 1924, The Homestead**

Kate's nerves woke her up early, but she wasn't the first one up. She paused at the top of the stairs and listened to the voices floating up from the kitchen. It was clearly Max and Mrs. Koslova, but she couldn't understand a word they were saying. She listened anyway, mesmerized by the unfamiliar sounds of the Russian language, until she heard her name clearly. She frowned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Katherine." Max nodded to her from his seat at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Koslova looked over at her and clucked her tongue. "You look like a man."

Kate's eyes went wide, and she looked down at herself. She had briefly debated on what to wear that morning, but decided that the trousers and shirt would be more practical if she really was expected to do any running or fighting. She had grown so accustomed to the Bureau in Philadelphia, where no one really cared how she was dressed, that she hadn't even bothered to replace the dresses and hats she'd left behind in Chicago. And she wondered momentarily if she should have given more thought to her wardrobe and making a good impression on new people.

"I thought I would need trousers today," she said sheepishly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"It's not a bad idea," Max said.

Mrs. Koslova shook her head and said something to him in Russian, waving a hand in Kate's direction. Max shrugged one shoulder and replied to Mrs. Koslova, something slow and a little hesitant, before quickly tuning his attention to the plate of eggs, vegetables, and potatoes in front of him. Mrs. Koslova shook her head again and said something else in Russian before turning to the oven to dish up a plate of food for Kate.

Kate graciously accepted the plate of food and sat across from Max, wondering what they were saying about her, wondering if the hint of color in Max's cheeks was her imagination, and wondering if she'd have time to buy some new clothes.

Dutch ambled down the stairs a few minutes later, earning himself a similar disapproving cluck of the tongue from Mrs. Koslova when he started picking his vegetables out of his breakfast. Max got another when he dumped his usual two heaping spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee.

And when Kate tried to be polite and offered to help with dishes, Mrs. Koslova gave her a stern look and pointed at the front door.

"You are an Assassin, not a maid. Go. Andrew will be mad if you are late."

All three of them silently buttoned up their coats and stepped outside to wait for Andrew Miles. When they spotted him walking down the street, Kate and Max pulled their hoods up, Dutch pulled a wool cap on, and they went to meet him.

"So," he said as they approached. "She kicked you out already?"

"I offered to help with dishes," Kate frowned. Miles just laughed and gestured them down the street.

They crossed the road they had taken from the train station and followed a small dirt path into the woods.

For ten minutes, no one spoke. Kate marveled at the dense trees around them and the thick silence of the woods. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, and she felt a little bit like she was walking through some storybook. Max seemed unfazed by the whole experience, but Dutch was looking around in awe as well.

And then they started seeing nets made of knotted rope stretched between trees and ditches, fences, and bales of hay spaced haphazardly amongst the trees.

"Part of the obstacle courses," Miles explained when he saw Kate's furrowed brow.

At the center of the Homestead was Davenport Manor, where Andrew Miles lived with his wife, Jo, and their twin boys. To the north, along a winding, gravel road, there were a dozen smaller houses where other Assassins lived with their families. A handful of older buildings were scattered to the south and west of the Manor. A small house had been turned into an infirmary. Another was used as an armory. There was a carriage house that had been converted to a gym, complete with heavy bags, weights, and a several padded rings for sparring and boxing. Yet another building was used as a library and schoolhouse. And the obstacle course stretched around the edge of the Homestead to the east.

That first morning, Kate's and Dutch's skills were tested side-by-side while Miles and Max watched.

They both were decent on the shooting range, explaining to Miles that they used to shoot bottles in an empty field when they were growing up. Kate almost added that this was maybe the only part of being an Assassin her mother had shared with her. Instead of saying it out loud, she listened to some quiet advice from Dutch and shot three more bullets dead center on the target pinned to the tree.

When Miles had them spar in the old carriage house, he and Max weren't the only ones watching. Jo, Miles's wife and also a Master Assassin, was there along with two other Novices, a dark-skinned woman whose hair was tied back with a bright red scarf and a lanky, blonde man that reminded Kate of James. She made a quick mental note that both women were wearing trousers_. _She also noted that Jo Miles was every bit as beautiful as Charles had said she was.

Kate was used to being watched while sparring and had sparred with Dutch before, so the exercise was comfortable. She didn't feel nervous until Jo stopped them and approached her. From the corner of her eye, Kate saw Dutch sidle up next to the woman with the red scarf in her hair. And Jo began a slow circle around Kate, eyeing her appraisingly.

"You've been trained by a boxer?" Kate nodded, and Jo continued her slow walk. "A man quite a bit larger than you?" Kate nodded again. "And no one has told you that you are stronger with your knees and your elbows than your fists?"

"No, ma'am," Kate shook her head.

Jo stopped in front of Kate, having completed her circle, and nodded. "You need to learn from a woman, someone who knows what it's like to be smaller." She glanced at Miles and grinned. "I want to train her."

"I hoped you'd say that," Miles returned her grin. Kate glanced to Max. She could tell from his eyes that he was pleased with this decision as well.

The next test was the obstacle course. Here, as Kate expected, she struggled. It wasn't an issue of stamina. She felt like she could run forever. And she was faster than Dutch at ducking and sliding under low fences. But she was slow at climbing over taller fences and up the rope nets. And she fell twice when jumping from fencepost to fencepost, the second time landing hard on her side, sending up a flare of pain from her still-bruised ribs.

"My legs and arms aren't long enough," she muttered to Dutch, brushing dirt off herself.

"Maybe you just need a new way to do it," he shrugged and pulled a leaf from her hair. "Like the fighting."

They walked back to where Miles and Max were waiting.

"You're terrible at climbing, aren't you?" Miles looked at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

She nodded and looked down at her feet.

"That's why you're a Novice," Miles chuckled. "Let's head back to the house and talk."

Kate shoved her hands in her pockets and followed Miles back towards the Manor.

She frowned as she passed one of the nets she'd just climbed. She didn't want to be terrible at anything. She didn't want to disappoint Charles.

Her steps faltered, that thought catching her by surprise.

Miles and Dutch were deep in conversation already and didn't notice her slow down, but Max did.

"Are you alright?" He asked. "Did you hurt your ribs again?"

"I'm fine," she smiled at his concern. "Well, I'm a little sore, but I'm fine. I just…I don't want to be terrible."

Max nodded in understanding, and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the Manor.

Just as they reached the front door, Miles waved at his wife, who was talking to two different Assassins than who she'd been with earlier. "Oi, Jo! Come in for a bit."

She shook her head at him, said something to the two men, and sauntered over.

"I hate it when you 'oi' me, Andrew."

"That's why I do it," he replied with a wink and held the front door open, gesturing everyone inside.

They settled around a large, worn table, one that looked like it had held many similar meetings before. Jo, who had ducked into a different doorway first, came in just a moment later and set a large bowl of apples in the middle of the table.

"So," Miles said, picking up one of the apples and leaning back in his chair. "Let's sort you three out."

He started with Kate, asking her to explain, from the beginning, what she was searching for and why she thought she'd find it at the Homestead.

She sighed and started with the night Peter died and ended with the job she'd done for Etienne.

Miles studied her face when she finished and said, "You are an odd case, aren't you?"

"Andrew," Jo chided.

"It's true," he shrugged. "Skilled in some areas and terrible in others." He scratched his chin for a moment then twisted in his chair to open a drawer in the cabinet behind him, pulling out a book. "You _need_ training," he said to Kate, flipping the book open and tapping his fingers on the page for a moment. "I want you in the carriage house for combat training with Jo every morning at 8. Normally, we have Novices study history, but it sounds like the research you want to do is practically the same thing. You have midday to do whatever you need to do in our library. When the kids get out of school and start their afternoon lessons, you're out on the obstacle course."

"And you," Miles pointed at Dutch. "Are going to help with the kids."

Dutch's eyebrows shot up. "Kids?"

Miles nodded. "Charles said you were teaching some of the kids in the thieves' guild how to fight. And it sounds like you helped train Kate while at the Bureau." He glanced to Kate for confirmation, and she nodded. "And whether you realize it or not, you were coaching her most of the morning."

Kate and Dutch looked at each other. He frowned. And Kate remembered his advice on the shooting range and his constant reminders to use her momentum and keep her hands up while sparring.

She grinned. "That's a brilliant idea."

"Glad you approve, Novice." Miles said dryly. Kate's grin dropped immediately, and Miles turned back to Dutch. "Carriage house at 2 pm for combat training with the older kids."

Dutch nodded, and Miles turned to Max.

"And I want you shadowing Kate."

"Shadowing, sir?"

"Look, I'll be honest with you, Maksim. When Charles had your records transferred to his Bureau from San Diego, he asked Jo and I to review a copy. I don't know what O'Malley was doing with you down there, but you should have been promoted a year or two ago."

Kate watched as Max frowned.

"What my husband is _trying_ to say," Jo said, shooting a glare at Miles. "Is that you do good work and have for a long time, easily enough to have reached your promotion to Master Assassin. None of us are sure why O'Malley didn't grant it. And Charles asked us to consider your promotion while you're here."

"I see," Max said slowly, still frowning.

"He thinks you would make a good Mentor," Jo continued.

Miles interrupted, shaking his head. "And I'm not going to develop some ridiculous, elaborate tests for you. It's a waste of time. Observe Kate's training in the morning, help her with her research, which is your official assignment anyway, and she's all yours on the obstacle course in the afternoons. When she gets her promotion, you get yours. And if you decide you don't want to be a Mentor after that, take it up with Charles."

Max seemed to consider this plan for a moment before nodding his acceptance.

"Good. We're done for today then." Miles pointed at Kate. "8 am tomorrow, Novice."

"Yes, sir," she nodded solemnly before Miles shooed them towards the front door.

At first, the trio was quiet as they walked back down the dirt path to towards Mrs. Koslova's house. From the corner of her eye, Kate could see that both Max and Dutch were deep in thought and both were frowning. Kate wasn't really sure what to do her own confusing assortment of emotions, so she focused her attention on her friends instead.

She glanced over at Max. "Being asked to be a Mentor is an honor, isn't it?"

"It is," Max nodded. Then he looked over Kate's head at Dutch. "So is being asked to help train."

"Is it?" Dutch asked.

And Max nodded. "I've never seen an outsider invited to train kids before."

Dutch fell silent, but his frown disappeared. And Kate turned back to Max.

"I'm glad you're the one who's going to train me on the obstacle course."

"I will not go easy on you," Max warned, sounding more like Maksim than he had with her in a long time. And she understood what he wasn't saying.

"I don't expect special treatment," she said levelly. "I'll even call you Maksim while we're training."

And then she slipped her arm through his and grinned up at him. "But I'm still glad it's you."


	24. Chapter 24

**December 16, 1924, The Homestead**

Maksim watched as Katherine scrambled up the rope net. Kate, he corrected himself. She had followed through with her initial promise to call him Maksim while training, so he returned the favor, deciding the show of respect should go both ways. The single syllable still felt awkward, so he usually just tried to avoid saying her name out loud.

In her hand-to-hand combat, under Jo's tutelage, she was doing well. The style Jo taught her allowed her to be both faster and more powerful with her hits, and the combination of Sal's lessons and Jo's lessons put her on relatively even footing with Della, the other female Novice who trained with Jo.

Her climbing, one of the key skills he was supposed to be working on, was also improving. All it had really taken was a few lessons in footwork and instruction to rely less on her arms and more on her legs.

What wasn't improving was her jumping. Or, more specifically, her ability to land gracefully. Or accurately. Or, sometimes, at all.

Especially when it came to the fence posts she was currently approaching.

There were six fence posts in the section just after the rope net, ranging in height from three feet to four feet. The last post was the one she'd been struggling the most with, only landing on it cleanly a handful of times.

And today was worse than normal.

Maksim had noticed on the walk over in the morning that she was quieter than usual. In her sparring, she seemed distracted, taking hits from Della that she would have normally easily countered.

He wondered if it was the news from Philadelphia that was bothering her—news that the contract was still out on her, that Etienne's house was being watched, that the boys of the thieves' guild were being harassed. But nothing had actually happened. Everyone was safe.

It could have also been her research, which had not been going well. In two weeks, she'd found no sign at all of any of her family ever having been at the Homestead. But when they had been in the library, she worked as diligently as ever.

Her mood, however, seemed to darken once they got to the obstacle course. And her lack of concentration only added to her difficulties in running the obstacle course. When she'd fallen from that last fencepost for the third time, he tried to ask her where her head was. And she had given him a glare that would have been frightening if not for the clump of snow in her hair.

It was the first time in two weeks that she'd been anything other than completely professional while training. It was one of those skills of hers that he admired—just like when she was dressed in disguise, she was able to reign in her personality almost completely when training. To an outsider, there was no way to tell that they were anything other than Mentor and Novice. And then, when they would walk back to Mrs. Koslova's house, she would drop the façade, slip her arm in his, and return to the Katherine he had gotten to know so well over the months.

But today—today there was something wrong. He just looked at her glare, shook his head, and said calmly, "Do it again."

He stood next to the last fencepost and waited. This time, he was going to watch her feet closely, to see if he could figure out where she was going wrong and why she was slipping off.

She started at a jog, leaping onto the first post and making her way across, one running step per post. But on the last one, her foot didn't land square. On instinct, he reached out to stop her from falling over.

She twisted away from him and ended up landing hard on her back.

"What the hell was that?" She scowled at him

Maksim blinked at her, surprised by the outburst, by the anger directed at him.

"Why did you pull away?" He asked.

"Why did you try to _catch_ me?" She shot back and stood, brushing snow from herself with forceful sweeps of her hands.

"I was trying to keep you up there," he said levelly. "You have been falling from the same post for two weeks."

"I'm well aware. And you haven't tried to catch me before."

Maksim sighed and admitted, "I do not want to see you get hurt."

She snorted and, flinging an arm out wide, asked, "And what happens when I'm out there? What happens when I'm alone and you're not there to catch me? Because you're not going to be there with me, are you?" She shook her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "What happened to not going easy on me, _Maksim_?"

He knew she was being logical, that she was right. But he didn't understand the intensity of her anger. And he couldn't help but wince at the way she spit his name at him, a reminder of the role he was supposed to be playing in that moment, a role he had momentarily forgotten.

He studied her face for a moment before nodding. "You are right. I apologize."

"You apologize?" She scoffed. "You _apologize_?" And she threw her hands up and turned on her heel, marching back towards the manor.

Maksim frowned at her retreating figure. He had no idea how apologizing had caused _that_ reaction. It took him a moment to think to call after her.

"Kate!"

She didn't even slow down. He shouted again. And when she still didn't respond, he jogged after her. When he reached her, he grabbed the arm of her coat and stated steadily, "Do not walk away from me, Novice."

She spun towards him, eyes wide and jaw slack.

He held her by the shoulders, not roughly but not gently either, and said, "You cannot criticize me for giving you special treatment and expect me to let you walk away like that."

She blinked at him. And a single tear fell, rolling slowly down her cheek. Maksim closed his eyes and sighed. That, again, was not the reaction he was expecting. Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a Mentor.

"Katherine," he said, opening his eyes again. "I don't understand what's going on right now. And I can't…I don't see how I can be your Mentor and not care about you. I am not as good as you at keeping these relationships separate." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step away. "Perhaps…perhaps I shouldn't be doing this at all."

His heart sank when she turned away from him. But she only walked a few feet away to a section of a split-rail fence and hoisted herself up to sit on top of it. After a brief hesitation, he followed and leaned next to her, resting his elbows on the top rail.

For a long moment, they were both silent. Maksim tried to untangle the situation in his head. But Katherine spoke before he made much progress.

"I'm obviously not very good at keeping things separated either," she muttered, and Maksim turned and looked at her profile. She was biting her lip, clearly trying to sort out something before speaking. So he waited. She tugged on a strand of hair before finally saying, "Dutch told me Miles asked him to join the Order."

Maksim frowned at the jump in topic. He and Miles had spoken about Dutch a few days earlier, but he wasn't sure what Dutch had to do with his and Katherine's complicated mentoring situation or Katherine's outburst. And then he realized it may have everything to do with the mood she'd been in all day.

"You don't want him to?" He asked, watching her profile carefully for a reaction.

"It's not that. It's just…I know I'll lose him." He voice dropped to nearly a whisper when she added, "I'm just not ready yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll finish training, and I'll get sent somewhere. But he won't be able to come with me. He'll get sent somewhere else. And you'll be made a Mentor and sent somewhere else. And maybe they'll let me stay with Charles, but probably not." She shook her head and wiped at her cheeks. "Dutch said it was your idea."

Maksim stood up straight when he realized what she was getting at.

"You are mad at me for suggesting that Dutch join." Hers eyes flicked briefly to his before looking down again.

"Yes? Maybe. I'm not sure." She shook her head again. "Nana told me this would be a lonely life. She warned me that I might lose him if I started this. And I get it. I know I have to do this on my own, I just…"

And Maksim remembered the conversation he and Dutch had on the train, that Katherine had lost enough.

"It's not always a lonely life, Katherine. It does not have to be. Look at the families here."

"But Charles has always been alone. My mom was on her own. And you're on your own—"

"Because I left."

She looked over at him, eyebrows raised, and slowly repeated, "You left?" And he nodded.

"When my father…" He paused and frowned. This was not a story he told often. He looked at Katherine again, who had returned her gaze to the ground. Taking a deep breath, he started over. "I was 19 when my father died. And…I did not handle it well. I found it…difficult to be at home without him, so I…requested a transfer." He sighed. "I could have stayed with my mother. I told her I would come back when I got promoted, but…"

"But O'Malley never promoted you."

"No," he said, frowning again. He still wasn't sure why O'Malley hadn't promoted him. He shook that thought off and stepped in front of Katherine, tipped his head down to force her to look at him, and echoed what Charles had told him weeks ago. "Families, our emotional connections to other people, are important to the work that we do. That's why places like this exist. If you want to stay with Dutch or with Charles, you can."

Kate shook her head and looked away from him. Maksim sighed. He thought that was what she would want to hear, but she seemed no less troubled by the situation. He tried a different approach.

"But I know that you are capable of doing this on your own, should it come to that. You will not need me to catch you once you figure out how to land."

She let out a huff of hair, half a laugh, and shook her head again. "I just need to figure it out sooner rather than later."

"You will," he said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "You're a good Mentor, Maksim. Don't let my temper make you think you're not good at this."

He nodded. And then gestured in the direction of the library. "As your Mentor, I think today may be a good day to spend some extra time reading through Ratonhnhaké:ton's journals."

She slipped down from the railing and said, "That sounds wonderful. It's freezing out here."

As Maksim fell into step beside Katherine, he glanced down at her and said, "You know…if you didn't fall in the snow so much, you wouldn't be so cold."

She snorted and kept walking towards the library. He watched her from the corner of his eye. Even though she was walking calmly and had accepted what he said to her, he could tell she was still unhappy. She was walking a half a step ahead of him instead of with him, and she didn't tease him back like she normally would. But maybe she was just trying to be professional again.

When they arrived at the library, they found the younger children of the Homestead crowded around a table with crayons and maps of various continents. Maksim nodded to Jo, who was leading the geography lesson, as he and Katherine made their way to the second floor where the Homestead's oldest records were.

Without a word, they both fell into the same positions they had been in most days in the library. Katherine curled up in the chair closest to the window with one of the small, leather-bound journals Ratonhnhaké:ton kept during the Revolutionary War. And Maksim settled at the desk with a stack of loose pages from one of the old ledgers. The binding had fallen apart and Maksim was both scanning for a sign of Katherine's family, either Barrowman or Debuchy, and sorting the pages into chronological order so they could be re-bound.

An hour passed in comfortable silence before he heard Katherine inhale sharply.

Maksim looked over at her, eyebrows raised.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton started the Boston Tea Party," she said. "This is nothing like the version I learned in school."

Maksim shrugged one shoulder. "Most of what you learned in school is different than what really happened."

"You don't have to sound so smug about it." Katherine rolled her eyes. "I'm still new to all this."

"Just wait until you read about George Washington."

Katherine shot him a glare and returned her attention to the journal. Maksim frowned, again confused by a reaction that, under normal circumstances, would have been a grin. He watched her for a minute before looking back down at the page he had been studying, running his index finger down the list of names and dates and assignments. He had barely regained his focus on the page when his finger froze over a familiar name.

Just below that was another. And another. He scanned the rest of the list, keeping his finger off the first instance of the name, as if it might disappear.

_Margaret Debuchy & Clipper Wilkinson. Escort Gunpowder Convoy. 5 September 1774. Successful._

_Margaret Debuchy & Clipper Wilkinson. Eliminate Major Aaron Stoney. 4 October 1774. Successful._

_Margaret Debuchy & Stephane Chapheau. Destroy HMS Peggy Stewart. 19 October 1774. Successful._

"Katherine."

"Hm?" She glanced up at him.

"I found Margaret Debuchy."

* * *

**_A/N:_** The HMS Peggy Stewart was a British merchant ship that docked off the coast of Maryland with the intention of selling tea on the black market (post Boston Tea Party and boycott of British tea). There were a lot of complicated political maneuvers regarding the ship, but ultimately, a mob of angry Patriots burned the HMS Peggy Stewart and all its cargo.


	25. Chapter 25

**December 17, 1924, The Homestead**

Kate sat on the top step and listened to everyone in the kitchen. Dutch and Max and Mrs. Koslova. A mix of English and Russian and Dutch's full laugh. She couldn't bring herself to join them. She had come home the day before excited about the discovery of Margaret Debuchy's records. That excitement even overshadowed the frustrations of her training and her concerns about Dutch and being left alone.

But she had stayed up late in the night reading and re-reading the records she had copied down in her own notebook, tracing a name that was attached to Margaret Debuchy. A name that suddenly stopped appearing next to hers in the records.

Margaret Debuchy was cursed.

When she finally went to bed, her thoughts lingered on something Max had said to her. An offhand comment that she'd barely even registered at the time. But as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about her family and about the curse, the words wouldn't go away.

Max said he cared about her.

She didn't sleep well. She knew she was afraid of being on her own. She knew what Max had told her, that she didn't have to be alone. But he was wrong. For her, for a Barrowman woman, being alone was the only way. And when she finally got out of bed, the realization of what she needed to do was like a lead weight at the pit of her stomach, and she couldn't bring herself to face Max or Dutch. So she sat on the steps, closed her eyes, and let their voices wash over her. Until she heard her name. Her eyes snapped open, the conversation coming into sharp focus.

"Katherine is going to miss breakfast."

"Yeah. Maybe we should…" Dutch's voice stopped when he stepped into the hallway and met Kate's eyes. She held her breath as Dutch turned back to the kitchen. "You know, she's probably just sleeping in a bit. You and Jo have been working her pretty hard. C'mon." And he was pushing Max out the front door and keeping him from looking her way as he said, "You said you'd race me to the top of the church this morning."

Kate waited for the front door to close, counted to fifty, and exhaled slowly before standing and making her way down to the kitchen.

Mrs. Koslova was cleaning up from breakfast. She glanced over her shoulder at Kate, but, instead of her usual disapproving cluck, she just waved a hand in the direction of the stove.

"The biscuits are still warm."

"Thank you, ma'am." Kate replied quietly. She settled at the kitchen table, broke open one of the biscuits and spread orange marmalade in the middle.

Mrs. Koslova sat in the chair across from her with a cup of coffee. And Kate's eyes went wide when she pulled a silver hip flask out and dumped something clear into her mug.

Mrs. Koslova glanced up and answered Kate's unspoken question. "Vodka. Dutch found it for me last week."

Kate shook her head and focused on her breakfast. Of course Dutch already got his hands on booze. And of course he used it to win over the older woman who set the rules of the house.

After a few moments of letting her eat in silence, Mrs. Koslova leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked, "Which of the boys are you avoiding?"

"What?" Kate looked up. "I'm not avoiding anyone."

Mrs. Koslova shook her head. "I'm not that old. And I'm not blind. Thick as thieves, the three of you. Until today."

Kate studied the woman for a moment. She wasn't normally this talkative. At least, not with Kate. Maybe it was the vodka.

Kate sighed and repeated, "I'm not avoiding anyone."

Mrs. Koslova nodded, accepting the statement. Though she didn't look convinced. She let Kate eat in silence for another few moments before saying, "It must be hard to be a young woman in the Order with so many men."

Kate glanced up again and found Mrs. Koslova watching her with a knowing smile. Kate knew she was trying to get something out of her. She just didn't know what. So she tried to turn the conversation around.

"How do you know about the Order, Mrs. Koslova? How did you come to take on lodgers like us?"

The woman's smile faded. "I am a widow." And it was enough of an explanation for Kate.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, looking down at her half-eaten biscuit.

"It's fine," Mrs. Koslova replied, waving her hand dismissively. "My Pyotr died a nearly a decade ago.

"Peter?" Kate frowned. The name sounded different coming from Mrs. Koslova though.

"Pyotr," she repeated. "It is the same name as the friend you lost. Just Russian."

"Oh," Kate blinked. Max or Dutch must have told her the story.

"My son," Mrs. Koslova went on, "moved to New York five years ago, and my daughter, my Lena, is in France."

"Are they both in the Order, too?"

Mrs. Koslova shook her head. "My son is an Assassin, yes. But Lena is a translator, like I was. She works for the Order but did not want to kill. You chose a difficult path for a woman."

"I didn't choose it," Kate said, voice full of bitterness. "It chose me."

And when Mrs. Koslova clucked her tongue, Kate grit her teeth. The sound was disapproving in the way Nana's arched eyebrow was disapproving. And she wasn't about to let this woman, no matter how well-intentioned she may be, take over for Nana. So she tried, again, to take control of the conversation.

"It seems like Max and Dutch have told you everything else, so I assume you know why I'm here? What I'm looking for?"

Mrs. Koslova raised her eyebrows at Kate's inquiry. "I know you are looking for information about your family."

Kate bit her lip and considered what she wanted to say. She couldn't tell Mrs. Koslova everything. There were things she probably shouldn't know. But she needed to explain enough to get her to drop the subject. She remembered Charles's words about keeping secrets. _Close to the truth without giving anything important away_.

"My family is cursed," Kate said, her voice coming out flat. "Whichever ancestor lived here last did something to curse us. We don't get to fall in love. We don't get to have families. We die young. We lose the ones we care about."

"So you joined the Order to break this curse?"

Kate shook her head. "I joined the Order because it's in my blood. Because even when I wasn't a part of it, my family, my friends, they were dying because of it."

"Your Peter did not die because of the Order," Mrs. Koslova said, her voice as stern as when she listed the house rules the first night. "He was killed by Templars."

Kate held Mrs. Koslova's gaze for a moment. But then she sighed and let her shoulders slump a little. Mrs. Koslova was partly right. It wasn't the Order's fault.

"Tell me why you didn't come to breakfast with the boys," Mrs. Koslova requested. "What is really bothering you?"

Kate sighed. And decided it couldn't hurt to try to talk through at least some of what was running through her head. It wasn't like she could talk about it with Max or Dutch anyway.

"Yesterday, Max and I found records of one of my ancestors here. I have letters of hers, letters her grandmother wrote to her. And I know that, while she was here, she fell in love. She had a baby in the middle of the Revolutionary War." Kate shook her head. "I wasn't even sure I believed in this curse when I started this. But the more I find out about my family…"

She trailed off and chewed on her lip again, unsure of how to articulate the rest of her thoughts. Mrs. Koslova just waited patiently, sipping at her spiked coffee.

"The records I found yesterday," Kate said finally, returning the where she started. "I know from the letters that she was in love. And I know it was someone she worked with. They worked in groups or pairs a lot during the war. And there's one name that came up more than others. More than half of her assignments were with him. That's how my parents met, too. They worked together. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it's him. And he died. His name just…disappears from the records."

"But it may not be him," Mrs. Koslova said, her voice softer than Kate thought possible. "And he may not have died but left the area."

Kate shrugged. She had considered both of those thoughts as well.

"And it may be the curse," she said stubbornly. "Before I left, my grandmother warned me that this would be a lonely life. My mother tried to keep me out of it. She told so many lies to protect me. My father didn't even know I existed until a month ago. I see the Miles family and everyone here. And Max told me we could stay together, Dutch and my father…but I can't. Not really. If my family was cursed a century and a half ago, and I can't even figure out why…how am I supposed to break the curse?"

Kate looked down at her hands, rubbing a small, faded bruise on her knuckles. She knew she hadn't really answered Mrs. Koslova's question about skipping breakfast, but she wasn't sure how to admit her real reason. She wasn't sure she wanted to say it out loud.

"Do you know the story of the king of birds?" Mrs. Koslova asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Kate blinked at the odd question. And frowned. "I…don't think so."

Mrs. Koslova took a long sip from her mug and stood. She began her story as she collected the last of the dishes from the table.

"There was a day when all the birds gathered. There were birds of all kinds and from all places. Birds from the mountains and birds from the plains and birds from the valleys. And they all gathered to decide on a king. There was to be a contest, and whichever bird could go the highest in the sky should be king of all birds."

Kate listened intently, spreading marmalade on a second biscuit before Mrs. Koslova took the jar from the table and returned it to the icebox. She had no idea what this story had to do with anything, but something about Mrs. Koslova's storytelling was still engrossing.

"The eagle was sure he would win. He was big and strong and fierce. He was so sure he would win that he let himself daydream of what it would be like to be king. And he didn't notice the little wren jump onto his back and clutch onto his feathers. He flew higher and higher, and the birds below him cheered. And he knew he had won. But just as he started to return to the ground, the little wren let go of the eagle's feathers and flew up into the air. The eagle didn't notice the wren. He returned to the ground and puffed out his feathers. And the wren landed silently next to him."

Mrs. Koslova paused and took Kate's now empty plate away, setting in the sink before continuing.

"The birds began to argue. Some said the eagle flew the highest. But the owl reminded them all that the contest was to see who could go the highest in the sky. And the wren was clever and didn't even have to fly, but he went the highest. And that is how the clever, little wren became the king of all birds."

Kate watched Mrs. Koslova smile and fold her arms across her chest. She pinned Kate with a look that suggested she was waiting for Kate to respond, to say something. But Kate had no idea what the point of the story was.

After a moment, Mrs. Koslova shook her head.

"You chose a difficult path for a woman," she said, repeating the words she'd said earlier. This time, she added, "And a difficult path to walk alone. And I think it may be too late to push those boys away. Avoiding them at breakfast won't do anything but make them worry and make you miserable. And it will not keep them safe from the life they, too, have chosen."

Kate's eyes went wide, realizing that Mrs. Koslova had figured out the answer to the question she had avoided. Mrs. Koslova just clucked her tongue.

"You do not have to do all the work yourself. And you are a clever, little wren. You will figure this out." Then she waved a hand at the doorway. "Now get out of my kitchen, or you will be late for your training."

Kate didn't argue, her mind too busy trying to sort out what in the world Mrs. Koslova was trying to get at. She tugged on her coat and glanced at the clock. Even though it would mean showing up at the carriage house a quarter hour early, she decided to head out alone. She needed time to think.

Fat, wet snowflakes were falling steadily, and there was a sharp, cold wind blowing. Kate shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and pulled her hood up. The only sound she could hear was the crunch of the snow under her feet as she made her way through the woods.

At this point, breaking the curse seemed an impossible task. And Kate couldn't bear the thought of truly losing Dutch or Max. Not the way she'd lost Peter or the way Margaret lost Clipper. And with the Templars still hunting for her in Philadelphia, she decided it was time to take a note from her mother. She needed to focus on her training, to get her promotion as quickly as possible, and to leave.

She needed to do this on her own in order to protect the people she cared about the most. The way her mother did. The way her grandmother did.

The way Barrowman women did.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Lots of notes for today!

First, don't panic (I'm looking at you, beafstew). I promised no one would blow up a tavern, and I meant it.

Second, I can't take credit for the story of the wren and the election of the "king of birds." Variations of this fable show up in multiple cultures; I've seen it referenced by Aristotle (4th century CE Greece), in tales originating in both South America and South Africa, and in more contemporary Irish folklore. This is just my version.

Third, vodka was not really popular in America until the 1940s. During Prohibition, it was difficult to even find unless there were high concentrations of Eastern Europeans living in an area. Coastal Massachusetts (where the Homestead is, according to the AC wiki) had a couple of key Eastern European (particularly Russian Jewish) communities. And: Dutch is good at what he does. :)

Last but not least, thanks for your reviews and messages! I love you all. :)


	26. Chapter 26

**December 24, 1924, The Homestead**

Dutch's ability to find quality alcohol meant he and Maksim had been enlisted to help Andrew and Jo Miles set up for the Christmas party at Davenport Manor. This also meant that Maksim didn't see Katherine until she arrived with Mrs. Koslova and the party was in full swing.

When he first saw her, she was just walking in from the hallway, her coat in one hand and three colorful packages balanced precariously in the other. The Miles twins greeted her, nearly bouncing with excitement, and took her coat and the gifts. Just after passing off the items, she glanced across the room and met Maksim's gaze.

And Maksim felt a little like he had been kicked in the chest.

She was wearing a new dress, one she had purchased in town specifically for the party. The dress was made of a soft, silvery grey material and was the same loose-fitting style she usually wore. A beaded sash at her hips only hinted at slight curves, and the hemline stopped at her knees, showing off her legs. And though he saw no sign of it, he had a feeling her Derringer was strapped to her thigh.

He shook himself from his reverie and crossed the room to greet her.

"You look lovely tonight, Katherine," he observed.

"Oh." She blinked up at him. "Thank you, Maksim." She seemed surprised, either by his appearance next to her or by the compliment, but he wasn't sure which.

In truth, he had been having a harder time that usual reading her. She hadn't been herself in weeks.

He and Dutch had both noticed that something was wrong the first day that she skipped breakfast. It was on that walk to the Homestead without her that Dutch explained that Katherine had a hard time with the holidays ever since her mother died. Dutch said he wasn't surprised that it would be even harder without Peter and not being near Nana. Maksim agreed to Dutch's advice to give her space, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her mood than the holidays.

It wasn't just that she was being a little distant. It was the way she threw herself into her training—her physical training, specifically. She was even skipping time researching her family in favor of longer sparring sessions or time on the shooting range. And he was disappointed to find that she decided to call him Maksim—not just when they were training, but all of the time.

He didn't even realize he had been staring at her, unmoving, until Jo called out them, her sing-song tone carrying across the crowded room.

"Look who's under the mistletoe."

Maksim's eyes darted to the greenery in the doorway above him. Then back down at Katherine. Her eyes were wide, and he shook his head, giving her a silent message that they didn't need to participate in the old custom. He started to step away, but Miles, who appeared next to his wife, shook his head.

"Come on, Maksim," he chuckled. "Don't be a spoilsport."

"It's a Christmas tradition," Jo added, folding her arms across her chest and waiting.

Maksim glanced around and found that a handful of others, including Mrs. Koslova, were watching them.

Maksim looked back at Katherine. He was torn between not feeling like he could back down while everyone was watching and not wanting to upset Katherine. Her cheeks had flooded with color, and she looked as conflicted as he felt. And just as he thought the situation couldn't get any more embarrassing, Dutch, standing with arm draped over Della's shoulders, chimed in with a low wolf whistle.

Maksim watched Katherine lift her chin, her stubborn nature obviously winning out over her embarrassment.

And maybe there was nothing wrong with an innocent kiss.

He raised an eyebrow in question, giving her one more chance to back out, but she nodded. And he watched her eyes dart over his face before she rested one hand on his chest and rocked up on her toes.

Maksim dropped his head to meet her halfway.

And just like the first moment he met her, he noticed three things all at once. The first was that she smelled inexplicably like jasmine. The second thing he noticed, as his eyes slipped closed, was how soft her lips were. And the third was that a gentle warmth seemed to radiate out from her hand on his chest, flooding his entire body. He was vaguely aware of Katherine leaning into him and of his hand finding its way to her waist.

And before he knew what was going on, the hand on his chest shoved him away. Caught completely off guard, he stumbled, and his back hit the doorframe behind him.

Maksim blinked at Katherine. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide and shining.

"I'm sorry, Max," she whispered. "I can't—the cur—" And she covered her mouth with her hand, turned on her heel, and ran from the room.

Maksim stared after her. And the party around him seemed to carry on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What the hell was that?" Dutch's voice appeared next to him.

Maksim closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the doorframe, exhaling slowly.

"I'm…not really sure," he admitted. All he really knew was that he would probably never be able to smell jasmine again without thinking of Katherine. Springtime in California would be difficult.

He opened his eyes and looked at Dutch, standing up straight as his brain caught up with the situation.

"I need to apologize to her," he said. But Dutch stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"I know Katie. And I know that chasing after her is the worst thing you could do."

Maksim frowned.

"Trust me," Dutch shook his head. "She gave a sailor a black eye once for chasing after her. Just…give her a little time." He dropped his hand from Maksim's arm and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I shouldn't have egged you two on."

"It's fine," Maksim shook his head.

But his mind was still trying to put the pieces together. He pushed back the emotions coursing through his veins and tried to focus on her reaction, on what she said. There was something there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he knew it was important.

"Wait," Maksim frowned. "She gave a sailor a black eye?"

"You've seen her temper," Dutch chuckled. "If she's upset, she's not going to keep it to herself."

"No. She's not," Maksim replied slowly, the pieces finally clicking in place. "She pushed me away."

"Yeah," Dutch snorted. "Pretty sure everyone saw that."

Maksim shook his head. "I don't mean just now. She's pushed us both away." When Dutch frowned, he went on, "You said she has a hard time with holidays, but she's here tonight. She brought gifts. She's not being distant with anyone but us." He paused and shook his head again as he remembered Katherine's half-spoken word. "She believes in the curse. And she's pushing us away because of it."

Dutch's eyes went wide. "You think she's pushing us away to protect us? The way her mom did with Charles?" Maksim nodded, and Dutch sighed. "That's completely crackers. She's not going to get rid of me that easily."

"Crackers," Maksim agreed. "I have no intention of being pushed away, whether there is a curse or not."

"No?"

Maksim shook his head at the smirk Dutch was giving him, but he gave an honest answer. "Charles said he didn't fight for Katherine's mother. I won't make the same mistake."

"Well then," Dutch grinned and clapped a hand on Maksim's shoulder. "The black eye should be worth it."

Maksim surveyed the room and frowned. "Where do you think she went?"

"Knowing Katie, wherever the most books are."

Maksim glanced towards the back of the Manor and back at Dutch. "Office?"

"Office," Dutch nodded.

And they were right. They found Katherine standing in Miles's office, staring out the window that overlooked the Manor's front patio.

"I don't want to talk to you, Dutch," she said. Her voice was flat and emotionless, and she didn't even bother turning around.

"Tough," Dutch replied, stepping into the room. "'Cause we want to talk with you."

"We?" She spun around and, upon seeing Maksim standing in the doorway, froze.

"Please, Katherine," Maksim said, holding his hands up, palms out.

"Just hear us out," Dutch pleaded.

She looked from Maksim to Dutch and back. "Fine," she scowled. "Talk."

Dutch and Maksim exchanged a glance, and Dutch nodded, letting Maksim go first. He opened his mouth to begin and found himself at a loss for words, unable to decide the best way to proceed, unsure of the right way to convey his feelings on the situation. He closed his mouth again and frowned.

Katherine rolled her eyes and turned to Dutch.

"You better start. Maksim's not very good at this stuff."

Dutch cast Maksim an amused glance before asking Katherine, "Do you remember how we met?"

"Of course," she snorted. "Peter pushed me in a bush, and you tried to come to my rescue."

Dutch nodded. "And you called me your knight in shining armor and made me promise to always be your friend." He folded his arms across his chest. "Katie, I don't break my promises. I already followed you across the country once. I'll do it again."

"What are you talking about?" She frowned.

"I'm not going to let you push me away over some bullshit curse." He gestured to Maksim with his chin and added, "Neither of us are."

Katherine blinked. Then glanced at Maksim. Then turned back to the window. And Maksim noticed that her hands were clenched into fists at her side.

She shook her head and, without turning back to them, said, "I have to stay away from you both to keep you safe."

"Like your mom did with Charles?" Dutch scoffed, taking a step towards her. "How'd that work out?"

Maksim nearly winced at his tone. It was like Dutch was _trying_ to make her angry.

"Excuse me?" She hissed, spinning back to face Dutch. And Dutch just took another step towards her, challenging her.

"All the lies your mom told, all the secrets she kept. And not just from you, but from me and Peter, too. You know she was more of a mother to me than my own mom. She thought she was keeping us all safe. But what good did it do, huh?" Katherine's jaw was clenched and her eyes narrowed, but Dutch just took the last step to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Your mom thought she could control the curse, could break it by keeping it a secret? But she didn't break the curse because there _is_ no curse, Katie."

In a flash, Katherine twisted away from Dutch and stalked to the other side of the room, only turning back to glare at them both. But her eyes gave her away. Maksim could tell that she had heard what Dutch said, that his words had struck a chord of doubt in her.

"Perhaps it is not a question of whether or not there is a curse," Maksim said carefully. "But how much power you are willing to give to the curse."

Katherine frowned, and Dutch arched an eyebrow. Maksim shook his head and continued, keeping his voice level.

"When we say 'everything is permitted,' we are acknowledging that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with the consequences. And by cutting yourself off from friends and family, you are giving this curse power, whether it's real or not. You are choosing to isolate yourself over a fear of what might be, rather than building the life you want. And there are consequences to cutting those human connections."

"You really are terrible at this, aren't you?" Dutch shook his head and chuckled, "Philosophical jabberwock."

Maksim frowned at Dutch. "I was just trying to—"

"I understand," Katherine interrupted, her voice incomparably soft compared to when she last spoke. "Both of you."

"We will stand by your side no matter what," Maksim said, still irked by Dutch's comment and concerned that he hadn't made the point he really wanted to make. "Even in the face of a curse that may or may not exist."

"I understand," she repeated, holding Maksim's gaze for the briefest of moments before shaking her head. "I just…I can't. Not right now. I have to do this on my own."

As she started towards the door, Dutch stepped in front of her.

"No, Katie. You don't."

Maksim watched her tense all over again.

"Dutch," she warned. "I will hit you."

"I know," he grinned. "I came in here fully expecting a black eye."

She arched an eyebrow and said coolly, "Who said I'd be aiming for your face?"

Dutch's grin dropped, and his eyes went wide. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Maksim frowned as he watched the two stare each other down. It seemed unlikely that Katherine would back down. It also seemed unlikely that her threat was empty.

"Dutch, let her go," Maksim said finally. Dutch looked at him over Katherine's head, and Maksim nodded. Dutch hesitated before stepping aside, his face falling in defeat.

And just as Katherine stepped out of the room, she turned and looked back at the over her shoulder.

"And don't you dare follow me. Not tonight."

Maksim heard both the unspoken threat and the suggestion that she might be willing to talk another day. At least, that was how he decided to interpret her parting words.

* * *

**_A/N_**: Maksim's "philosophical jabberwock," as Dutch calls it, is actually borrowed from one of Ezio's lines in AC: Revelations.

"To say that nothing is true is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile and that we must the shepherds of our own civilization. To say that everything is permitted is to understand that we are the architects of our actions and that we must live with our consequences, whether glorious or tragic."


	27. Chapter 27

**March 25, 1925, The Homestead**

Kate blinked up at the dimly lit ceiling above her.

A year ago, Nana had let both Dutch and Peter in the house early in the morning, and they came crashing into Kate's bedroom, singing loudly. Nana made her favorite blueberry pancakes and put a candle in them.

So much had changed since then.

She had just started to pull the blankets back to climb out of bed when she heard the bedroom door creak open. And she couldn't help but grin.

"Good morning, Dutch."

"How'd you know it was me?" He paused in the doorway.

Kate looked over at him from her half-upright position and said, "Because Max is too polite to come in my bedroom without knocking."

"Oh. Right." Dutch nodded slowly. Then, without warning, he took a running leap onto the bed. Kate barely got out of his way in time. Fortunately, instead of tickling or tearing all the blankets off or any of his other usual tactics, he just stretched out on his back with his hands behind his head. Kate laughed and settled in next to him, resting her head on his bicep.

"Happy Birthday, Katie," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Dutch."

She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. So much had changed.

"I miss Peter," she said after a moment.

"So do I," Dutch answered.

"I miss Nana."

"I know," he replied. "But I conned Mrs. Koslova into making you blueberry pancakes. I know it won't be the same, but…" He shrugged, the arm under her head shifting awkwardly. "I work with what I've got."

Kate grinned again. "How exactly did you con Mrs. Koslova?"

"Vodka."

And Kate snorted softly. Of course Dutch would bribe with booze. For blueberry pancakes. For her birthday.

So much had changed. But not everything.

And as Kate lay in bed next to her best friend, she considered the elephant in the room.

Nearly three months had passed and no one had spoken about the events of Christmas Eve.

Dutch and Max both decided to prove the sincerity of what they'd told her that night by ensuring that one or the other of them, if not both, were always at her side. She wasn't all that surprised, really. Nor was she upset. She had understood their respective arguments, and, despite her immediate reaction, she was grateful for their support. And Charles's advice had been to let them help after all.

So they fell into a comfortable routine—one in which Kate was rarely alone—all without actually talking about the curse or the conversation they'd had.

But now was as good a time as any.

"Dutch," Kate said slowly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here." She turned her head to face him. "I mean…I'm glad you didn't let me push you away. You know…before. When…I was being…"

"Stupid?" He looked over at her with arched eyebrows.

And that was all it took. It was all she needed from Dutch to know everything was just fine.

"Shut it," she grinned. And shoved him roughly towards the edge of the bed.

"Hey," he barked, grabbing a handful of blankets to keep from falling off. And just as he started to retaliate, they heard a cough at the door.

Kate peered over Dutch's side to find Max standing in the doorway, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Am I interrupting?" He asked.

"Yes," Dutch laughed and clambered off the bed. "But it's for the best, really. I think you just saved someone's life."

Kate rolled her eyes. And Dutch set something on her bedside table and said, "I'm going to make sure Mrs. Koslova holds up her end of the bargain."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Max and Kate alone.

Kate took a deep breath and, relying on the momentum of saying it out loud to Dutch, blurted, "I'm glad you didn't let me push you away."

Max blinked at her. Twice. Then his mouth slanted up in a half-smile.

"And I'm glad no one ended up with a black eye, or worse, that night," he replied, crossing the room and holding out a small, rectangular package.

Kate ignored the warmth in her cheeks and scooted to the edge of the bed to take the offered package.

"What's this?" She asked, looking at the plain brown paper-wrapped object.

"A birthday gift," Max said.

"Oh." She looked up at him. And was suddenly very, very aware of the _other_ elephant in the room.

The kiss.

No one had spoken of that either.

Well, Dutch had tried one afternoon as they walked across the Homestead. And Kate had swiftly shut him up by smashing a handful of snow in his face.

And a few times, Kate thought Max looked like he wanted to say something. But he never did. And as time passed, those looks passed, too.

Maybe he had forgotten about it.

But Kate hadn't.

She trained harder and researched longer and pretended that her whole world hadn't been turned topsy-turvy by that single moment.

Even three months later, pretending didn't always work.

It wasn't that she hadn't realized how handsome Max was until he'd kissed her. In fact, she had found him attractive from the very beginning. Even more so once he started to relax around her.

And it wasn't like she didn't know she cared for him. That became clear to her the moment she saw him bleeding in Chicago. And it wasn't something that faded away, even when he had gone back to Chicago without her.

And with all they'd been through together in the few short months they'd known each other, it was impossible to not form a bond. They were friends. There was no question about that. She trusted him as much as she trusted Dutch.

She had agreed to kiss Max under the mistletoe because she was stubborn and people were watching and she didn't like to back down from a challenge. It wasn't like it was her first kiss ever. She'd kissed plenty of boys in the dancehalls. That's just the way it was. But those kisses were harmless.

Kissing Max turned out to be far from harmless. The moment his lips had touched hers, a flood of unfamiliar emotions welled up, emotions that she had to consciously work to tamp back down after that night. But every once in a while, when he was standing close to her or when he looked at her a certain way, they came rushing back.

Like right now. In her bedroom. With a certain warmth in his eyes. And the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

She shook her head quickly when she realized she was staring and not acknowledging the gift in her hands.

"Should I open it now?"

"Maybe later," he shrugged. "You should get dressed. We're skipping your morning training with Jo. I have something I need to show you and Dutch."

So Kate set the package next to the envelope Dutch had left behind and quickly prepared for her day.

Mrs. Koslova's blueberry pancakes were quite good. Not as good as Nana's, but close. And Mrs. Koslova refrained from any of her disapproving clucks or comments. After breakfast, they buttoned up their coats, Dutch in his sharp, new black coat with a hood, and headed towards the Homestead.

"So what's the big surprise?" Dutch raised his eyebrows. "Miles told me yesterday the three of us were going somewhere, but he wouldn't tell me a thing."

Max just shook his head. "Follow me." And he turned up a different path than the one they usually took.

Kate and Dutch exchanged a glance. Dutch shrugged, and Kate rolled her eyes. And they followed Max up the new path, muddy from recently melted snow.

After a few minutes of silence, Dutch stepped closer to Kate and whispered, "Any ideas?"

Kate shook her head, and Dutch raised his eyebrows.

"You think you could charm it out of him?"

Kate snorted quietly. "I think Max is immune to charm."

"Hm," Dutch nodded thoughtfully. "You might be right. He is pretty unflappable."

"I think you might mean impassive," she replied, feigning solemnity.

"Composed?" Dutch suggested.

"Stoic," Kate offered.

"Or stiff." Dutch grinned.

"I can hear you, you know," Max chimed in.

Dutch ignored Max and added, "Like he's got a stick up his—"

Dutch snapped his mouth shut when Max spun around the face them both. His lips were pressed in a thin line, but Kate saw a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Calm would be sufficient," Max deadpanned before turning back around and continuing up the path.

And Kate choked on a laugh when Dutch whispered, "Serene."

But she frowned when the trees thinned out and she realized Max was leading them towards the cliffs.

"Max," she said. "Teasing aside, where _are_ we going?"

Max glanced over his shoulder at her and slowed his pace.

"A long time ago, when a Novice was promoted to full Assassin, we used to take a ceremonial Leap of Faith, from a tower or a cliff, as part of our initiation."

He paused and looked around the area, stopping when his eye settled on a large boulder near the edge.

"There," he said, pointing. "Do you see?"

As Kate studied the boulder, she noticed a crude carving in the side of it.

"Is that a bird?" Dutch asked.

"An eagle," Max nodded. "It marks the spot where the Leap of Faith was taken by initiates here."

"Why an eagle?" Dutch frowned.

"Have you read about Altaïr yet?" Max asked. When Dutch nodded, he continued. "Altaïr's name means the 'flyer' or the 'eagle.' And since he was the one who reshaped the Order as we know it, the eagle is a symbol we use often. And it's particularly fitting for the Leap of Faith."

He stopped and gestured to the ocean that was now stretching out before them. Kate looked down at the waves crashing against rocks below and back up at Max, eyes widening.

His lips twitched. "Taking flight from a high point like this was a sign that we did not fear death, part of the commitment."

"You did say 'used to,' right?" Dutch asked. "As in past tense?"

Max nodded, and Kate said, "Not that I'm itching to jump off this cliff, but why did we stop?"

"I do not know why we stopped this part of the initiation," Max said, rubbing at his jaw. "My father told me that it is partly because our life is no longer about not fearing death or even just staying alive, but in finding something to live for." Max turned away from them, focusing his gaze on the horizon. "We still make a Leap of Faith when we join. When we commit to the Order, we commit ourselves to working for the greater good. It just no longer requires flight."

"So we stopped chopping off fingers, and we stopped jumping of cliffs." Dutch chuckled. "I'm glad the Order isn't afraid of progress."

Max shook his head and turned to Kate. "Miles and I agree that it is time for you to make your Leap, as it were."

"Okay," Kate nodded. But she hadn't really heard him. Her mind was racing, Max's words spinning around something else she knew was important. Something she had read.

"You are ready, Katherine."

Kate glanced at Max, who was watching her intently, then Dutch, who was beaming at her.

"Wait. What?"

Dutch snorted. And Max shook his head before saying, "You are ready for your promotion. At the end of the week, we'll be going back to Philadelphia to check in with Charles for your first solo assignment."

"Philadelphia?" Dutch asked. "Even though they're looking for her? Isn't there still a contract?"

"Yes," Max turned to him. "Which is why you are going as well."

"I am?" Dutch asked. But Kate was only half listening as Max explained that Charles wanted him to assist with escorting, as a practical test of his own training.

Most of her attention was still on the words Max had spoken earlier. Familiar words.

"Flight," she repeated quietly, ignoring the strange looks both Max and Dutch gave her as she stepped closer to the boulder. "For the greater good."

She shook her head and bit her lip. There was still something there she couldn't quite pin down. And her eyes settled on the boulder. On the eagle scratched into the side of the boulder.

"'I fly for the greater good,'" she said as her memory finally found the right words.

She felt Dutch step up beside her. "You okay?"

When Kate didn't respond right away, Max's voice appeared on her other side. "That's in the letter from Wren."

"The wren flew on the eagles back," Kate muttered, blinking up at Max.

"Katie," Dutch frowned. "You're talking nonsense."

And she shook her head, finally putting the pieces together. She took another step towards the boulder and spun back to face Dutch and Max.

"Wren had the box, the artifact," she said to Dutch, her words coming out in a rush. "She said 'I fly for the greater good.' The Leap of Faith is a flight for the greater good, right?" When Max nodded, she pointed to the boulder next to her. "It's here somewhere. The box. Wren hid it here, where the Leap of Faith was taken."

"Where though?" Dutch asked.

And Kate looked around the area. In both directions, the cliffs seemed to crumble off, sloping down into a rocky coastline. The Leap of Faith could really only be taken from this particular stretch. But the ground around them was almost entirely rock, solid chunks of granite cut with lines and ridges. There were dense trees around the edges and patches of old, icy snow still clinging to the shadier spots. The area looked completely untouched by humans.

"I don't know," she sighed, the excitement of her realization fading away. "But it's got to be here somewhere."

"We will look at the letter again," Max said. She jumped when she felt the weight of his hand on her arm and looked up at him. "We will find it, Katherine."

* * *

**_A/N_**: I'm posting an extra chapter this week because today I got to post an amazing drawing of Kate on my tumblr, courtesy of thesassassinscreed! There are links on my profile. Her comics are fantastic, and I'm honored she was willing to draw Kate. And that means you all get an extra chapter. :D

Also, Max's explanation for why the Order doesn't do the ceremonial Leap of Faith is borrowed from a line in Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov.

"The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for."


	28. Chapter 28

**March 26, 1925, The Homestead**

Maksim paused in the doorway to the kitchen.

Katherine was there, at the table, her books and notes spread around her, her head in her hands.

"Have you even moved since I last saw you?" He asked. "Or did you actually get some sleep last night?"

She raised her head slowly and gave him a small, tired smile.

"Good morning, Max. And yes, I slept a little."

He shook his head and walked over to the table, scanning the documents there, looking for any sign that she had made progress. Seeing nothing obvious, he plucked the coffee mug from the table and took it to the sink, dumping the cold coffee out.

"Is this from last night?" He asked, gesturing to the percolator on the stove.

"No," Katherine sighed. "I made that about an hour ago."

Maksim looked at her, at the dark circles under her eyes, then at the percolator and shook his head again.

"I am making you tea," he said. "You have probably had more coffee than is healthy." He took Mrs. Koslova's kettle to the sink to fill it with water.

"I am making you tea," Katherine mocked under her breath. He looked at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and she sighed. "Sorry."

He leaned against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest, and waited for the water to boil. He wondered how long he had before Mrs. Koslova blustered in and scolded him for using her stove.

"So," he said. "Did you find anything new since last night?"

She sighed again, running her fingers through her hair. "Not a thing."

"How late did you two stay up?"

"Dutch lasted until about midnight," she said, idly straightening a stack of papers.

"And you?" He tilted his head.

"2:30?" She shrugged, not looking him in the eye. "Maybe 3:00?"

Maksim glanced at the kitchen clock. 5:40. She said she'd made the coffee an hour ago. Even if she went to bed at 2:30, which he doubted, she would have only had two hours of sleep. He knew this was important, he knew she had been frustrated at finding nothing in the few hours they had searched the top of the cliffs for her ancestor's mysterious box, but spending the entire night awake, reading and re-reading everything she had, was ridiculous.

He frowned.

"Don't look at me like that, Max," she groaned and dropped her head back into her hands. "How was I supposed to sleep with this running circles in my head?"

"Well," he said. "I suppose this will be a good test to see how you handle training after a night with no sleep."

Her head popped back up, eyes widened. "Training? Can't we go back out there today? To look again?"

"We will have some time," he shrugged one shoulder. "Between your combat training and the obstacle course."

She frowned. "That's not much."

"I know," he replied. "But right now, your training is more important. Charles is expecting you to be ready for an assignment in a week's time."

"Right," she sighed. He watched her bite her lip and flip over one of her pages, reading her notes there.

He still did not believe in the curse, and he had been unsure of the artifact even existing at the beginning. But after working alongside Katherine all these months, after seeing how many generations of her family had been with the Order, it did seem reasonable that someone had been entrusted with something important. And after working alongside Katherine all these months, he _wanted_ there to be something. For her sake.

The tea kettle's whistle jarred him from his thoughts, and he poured the boiling water into two mugs, dropping teabags in after. He set Katherine's on the table for her and turned to add sugar to his own.

"_Spasibo_," she said quietly.

"_Pozhal_-wait." He spun back to her, eyes wide. "Where did you learn that?"

"Mrs. Koslva," she grinned.

"She's been teaching you?"

"_Da_," she nodded, her grin widening, her eyes practically sparkling. "I still only know a few things though."

"And what you know you ruin with your American accent," Mrs. Koslova interrupted from the doorway. Then she clucked her tongue and waved at the mess on the table.

_"Izvinite_, Mrs. Koslova," Katherine said and quickly began stacking her papers.

"_Nichevo strashnovo_." Mrs. Koslova shook her head then said, "Now get out of my kitchen. Both of you."

Maksim couldn't help but smile at the exchange. Katherine was always asking him to say things in Russian, but he had never thought to teach her. The idea of her wanting to learn his language sent a certain warmth through his chest, the same sort of feeling he'd had the night he'd kissed her.

He quickly pushed those thoughts aside, like he'd been doing for months now, and helped Katherine gather the rest of her notes and return them to her room. Without another word, they separated to prepare for the day.

As he did every morning, Maksim leaned against the wall of the carriage house to watch Katherine during combat training. Instead of a typical sparring session, however, Jo had Katherine practicing assassination moves on dummies. She had been training to fight with various knives and blades for about two months. She was passable, but it was definitely not going to be her specialty.

But the first kill had to be with the hidden blade. That was the tradition. So Katherine had to learn.

"She's better with ranged weapons," Miles observed, leaning against the wall next to Maksim.

"She is," Maksim agreed. "Though it seems unlikely that she will spend much time handling assassinations herself. Her real strength lies in research and information gathering. She will make a good scholar."

"Takes after her father," Miles nodded. After a moment, he nodded towards Dutch, who was pounding a heavy bag in the corner. "Dutch, on the other hand, is a brawler, through and through." He chuckled and added, "And with the way he flirts with the all the ladies on the Homestead, my wife included, he's going to leave a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes."

Maksim shook his head. It was something Katherine was always teasing Dutch about as well. He turned his attention back to Katherine and considered the best way to conduct their search at the cliffs.

By the time they arrived at the Leap of Faith location later that day, Maksim had only come up with one idea: start at the beginning.

"Katherine," he said, turning to her. "Can you walk us through your train of thought yesterday? How did you reach the idea that the box was here?"

She rolled her eyes. Then looked at Maksim and sighed, "Okay." She bit her lip, her eyes drifting to somewhere over his shoulder. Behind her, Dutch started pacing. Maksim waited patiently.

"It was the way you described the Leap of Faith as a flight," Katherine explained finally. "And that we work for the greater good. The letter I have from Wren used that same line." She took a breath and recited the last half of letter, the part originally in German. "_I am sending Merle back to you, and I will keep the box. Whatever they say about me...Nothing is true. It is in our blood. You know. Make sure Merle knows. I fly for the greater good."_

"Merle was her daughter, right?" Dutch asked.

Katherine nodded and continued, "So that line, 'I fly for the greater good,' it sounds like the Leap of Faith. But…" she trailed off and shrugged.

"That's it?" Dutch frowned. "A line in the letter sounded like something Maksim said?"

She looked down at the ground, biting her lip again and tugging on a strand of hair.

"What is it, Katherine?" Maksim asked, tilting his head to the side. "There is something else, I can tell."

She raised her head, her eyes meeting his, and sighed.

"Mrs. Koslova told me this story about how the wren became the king of birds."

Maksim blinked as a vague childhood memory came to him. "I know that story. My mother used to tell it to me when I was young."

"That's what made me think of Wren and the letter." She gave him a small smile and shrugged.

Dutch was still frowning, looking between the two. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

"It's just a children's story," Maksim explained, shaking his head. "It's about a clever wren that climbed on the back of the eagle in order to win a contest and become king of the birds."

"You're kidding me." Dutch gaped at Katherine.

Maksim frowned as Katherine's shoulders slumped.

"I know," she said. "It's stupid, and it doesn't help us at all."

"No, it's not that." Dutch said, laughing suddenly. "It's just that I know that story, too. My _opa_ used to tell it. It's an old story. Viking old, according to him."

"Why does everyone know this story but me?" Katherine shook her head. And then her eyes went wide. "No. It can't be that easy."

"What?" Maksim and Dutch asked in unison.

And she pointed at the boulder with the carving of the eagle on it. "We never checked the _back of the eagle_."

Dutch was the only one who moved, striding over to the boulder and kneeling behind it. He started pulling smaller rocks away, tossing them aside. After a minute and a dozen or so rocks, he let out another laugh. And Katherine went running to his side, crouching next to him.

Maksim just watched as Dutch passed her what looked like a metal box.

Katherine sat back on her heels, holding the box like it was made of solid gold.

Maksim shook his head and joined them, examining the box carefully.

It was an old safe box, no more than ten inches in length and six wide. There was a small handle on the top and keyhole on the side, but it was otherwise plain and entirely unexceptional.

All three of them stared at it in silence.

Then finally, Dutch poked a finger at the keyhole. "It's locked."

Katherine nodded slowly and glanced up at Maksim.

"Can you pick the lock?"

"Probably," he answered. "But I don't have my lockpicks with me right now."

"There's some back at the carriage house," Dutch offered.

And Katherine nodded again before standing and leading the way back towards the Homestead, still holding the box reverently.

Maksim trailed behind, his mind tracing over the stories and the possibilities. He could only imagine what Katherine must be feeling. He was excited _for_ her. To finally have some answers. To finally find what she had been searching for all these months. To finally have that last piece of her family.

And then he wondered what this might mean for him, for them. If the box held the artifact, if it truly was the end of her search, then it was also the end of his job. He had no real reason to stay at her side. Other than that fact that he _wanted_ to. He couldn't remember a time when he wanted something more. But he didn't know if she would want the same. Even if the box did mean she would finally let go of the idea of the curse.

"Katie," Dutch said, stopping abruptly. "Isn't your necklace some family heirloom?"

Katherine stopped and turned around, frowning. "Why?"

And Maksim knew exactly what Dutch was thinking. "The key," Maksim said.

Dutch nodded enthusiastically. "Try it."

Still frowning, like she didn't believe them, Katherine knelt in the middle of the path and balanced the box on her knee. She unclasped the necklace from her neck, pulled the round pendant and Charles's ring to the side, gently slid the small brass key into the keyhole, and turned it.

The box clicked open easily.

Katherine reached in and pulled out an envelope. While she opened it, Maksim looked at what lay below, finding a book or journal of some sort and what looked like a roll of old leather with buckles. He wondered if it was a bracer and hidden blade, but refrained from asking about it, instead looking back at Katherine as she began to read aloud from the note she had pulled from the envelope.

"_My darling Merle,_

_If you are reading this, then your grandmother must have explained why I left the way I did and told you how to find this box. _

_I can only hope that your grandmother also told you the stories of our family—the stories of the Barrowmans and the Debuchys. I do not know which name you have chosen. I only know my own choice._

_I was born Corinne Debuchy, but I am also Wren Barrowman. I chose both names, both stories, one foot in each world. You, however, must choose for yourself. Find your own path. This is how we have done it, ever since Cecily Barrowman made herself into Magpie Debuchy. _

_This journal is the beginning of our tale—an origin that must be preserved but must also be kept secret. Read it, and you will understand why._

_I hope you also understand why I had to leave you_.

_Ich liebe dich, Merle. Immer." _

Just as she finished reading, they heard the thudding of footsteps coming up the path. Katherine hastily folded the letter and put it back in the box, snapping the lid shut just as Jo appeared, winded and flushed.

She didn't even seem to notice the box Katherine had tucked under her arm, looking straight to Maksim. And Maksim's heart sank, knowing something had gone wrong.

"There you are," Jo breathed. "Your friend Sal has been shot. He's going to be fine, but Charles wants you back." She looked to Dutch and Katherine when she added, "All three of you."

Maksim followed Jo's gaze. As he expected, all of the color had drained from Katherine's face. And Dutch quickly put an arm around her shoulders.

"The train you want leaves Boston at 9:45," Jo said. "So you'll want the 7:40 from here."

* * *

_**A/N:**_Translations (I think I got it all right...but please let me know if any of it looks wrong...)

Russian:  
_spasibo_ = thank you  
_pozhalsta_ = you're welcome  
_izvinite_ = sorry  
_nichevo strashnovo_ = don't worry about it (or something similar)  
Dutch:  
_opa_ = grandpa  
German:  
_ich liebe dich_ = i love you  
_immer_ = always


	29. Chapter 29

**March 27, 1925, Philadelphia, PA**

There was no artifact in the box. When Kate had opened the box again on the train, she only found the note, a journal, and what turned out to be an old hidden blade. And some dirt and dust.

Kate had checked the first entry of the journal to confirm it was what the note said it was-Cecily Barrowman's journal. And it was. The first entry was dated 1718 in Nassau, which fit everything else she had found in her research. But she put the journal back in the box, deciding to wait until they got to the Bureau to start reading.

Instead, she had pulled out the copy of _The Brothers Karamazov_ that Max had given her for her birthday. And promptly fell asleep. Her all-nighter the day before had caught up to her.

She woke sometime in the early hours of the morning, before the train had reached Philadelphia. Next to her, Dutch was still sleeping soundly, mouth agape. And Max was sitting across from her, awake and working on the hidden blade.

When she had pulled what she thought was just a scrap of leather out of the safe box, Max had asked to see it. She didn't hesitate to hand it over when she saw the way his eyes were sparked with excitement.

Sitting across from her now, he was frowning in concentration, tightening something on the blade's mechanism with a small screwdriver. His hair was a little disheveled, his tie was loose, and the top button of his shirt undone. And she remembered what he was like that first day on the train—stiff and serious and painfully polite.

He seemed so different now. And yet he wasn't at all.

She glanced down at the book still in her lap. Her birthday present. It was on that first train trip that she'd learned it was his favorite book. Her birthday present from Dutch, along with the most recent letter from Nana, was tucked between the pages. Just like every other birthday, Dutch had given her a note promising to take her dancing.

And she couldn't even remember the last time she'd been dancing. Sometime before leaving San Diego. Five months ago? Six? She looked back over at Max. She understood now why he was always so serious. Knowing what she knows now, it would be impossible to go back to the carefree and somewhat reckless lifestyle she had been living.

But Max wasn't serious all the time. She knew that now, too. She understood that half of his frowns were because he was thinking about something, not because he was unhappy. Though she couldn't remember ever hearing him truly laugh out loud, she knew how to coax a smile out of him. And she knew she could still make him blush if she caught him off guard.

Like right now, when he realized he was being watched.

Kate smiled at him. And, despite the hint of pink that had risen in his cheeks, he smiled back.

"_Dobroye utro_, Max."

"_Dobroye utro_."

Kate nodded to the hidden blade. "Does it work?"

"Surprisingly, yes," he replied. "I sharpened it while you were sleeping. It is a beautiful piece. I don't think I've seen one this old before."

He gestured for her arm. Kate obliged, holding her arm out and pulling her sleeve up. He reached between them and wrapped the simple leather bracer around her forearm.

"The blade is a little crooked," he explained as he fastened the three buckles for her. "But the mechanism works perfectly otherwise. You just need to make sure to flex your hand all the way back when you activate it." He demonstrated with his own hand. "Otherwise, you will cut yourself."

Kate frowned. "You put it on me _before_ telling me that?"

"Just be careful," Max shook his head, his lips twitching. "I don't have the right tools with me, but when we get to the Bureau, I will fix it for you."

She nodded and turned her arm over, examining the mechanism on the inside of her wrist. When she flicked her wrist, the blade slid out with the distinctive _shink_ sound.

"It's so small," she commented, looking closely at the blade itself.

"It is thinner and simpler than the one Jo had you practicing with, but the whole piece is less bulky that way. It seems perfect for you."

Kate flicked her wrist again and the blade retracted. She looked over at Max, at the faint smile on his lips, and asked, "Do you want it back?"

His eyebrows drew together almost imperceptibly, and he hesitated before saying, "Technically, Novices don't carry hidden blades...but I don't see why you can't wear it and get used to the feel of it. It's not like you'll need to use it between now and when we arrive at the Bureau."

Not two hours later, Kate was tempted to tell Max he had jinxed them with those words. After seeing two Templars on Market Street, they had pulled their hoods up and taken to the side streets and alleys instead—only to come across another Templar blocking their path to the Bureau.

"Charles said their presence had increased," Max frowned. "But I had not expected so many."

"Well," Dutch said, "If they're watching this alley, they're probably watching the others around the Bureau, too."

"We could go up and over the rooftops," Kate suggested. "Or we could just take this one out."

"If he's looking for us," Dutch replied. "And has been looking for Katie all along, there's no reason to keep him alive and risk him seeing her."

Max glanced around the alley and nodded. "I agree. One less Templar is always good. But we have to be quiet about it. Gunfire would draw attention."

Dutch pointed at a nearby fire escape. "You could do one of those air assassination things from up there," he offered.

Max tilted his head and looked at Dutch. And Kate saw him slip into his Mentor role.

"And why do you think an attack from above would be best in this situation?"

Dutch shrugged. "The distance between us and him," he said. "You run the risk of him turning around and seeing you. Although the lighting right now is in our favor. There are lots of shadows." He grinned and added, "Too bad there aren't strategically placed piles of hay like at the Homestead."

Max shook his head.

And Kate interjected, "We don't have time for a lesson. The longer we wait, the busier the streets get, the brighter the sun gets, and the lower our chances are of success."

But Max and Dutch continued debating the merits of various approaches. Kate rolled her eyes. She wanted to get to the Bureau, to Sal, to Charles.

She took a small, quiet step backwards. When neither of them seemed to notice, she took another step away from them. Again, neither reacted, so she turned and silently made her way towards the lone Templar in the bowler.

As she approached the man from behind, she held her breath and slowed her pace, letting her mind run over everything Jo had taught her. When she got close, she flicked her wrist and released the hidden blade. She paused for a fraction of a second at the sound, but the Templar didn't notice her at all. Taking two more quiet steps behind him, she looped her left arm around his and, in the same motion, drove the hidden blade between his ribs, aiming for his heart. She heard a strangled sound come from him, pulled the blade out, and stabbed him again for good measure.

When his body went limp, she stumbled under the weight of it but managed to lower him to the sidewalk. She stood up straight and stared down at the now lifeless body, a wave of nausea passing over her. She looked at her right hand, covered in blood, the hidden blade still extending past her fingers, and her stomach rolled again. She swallowed thickly and flexed her wrist to pull the blade back in.

The shout from her left only barely registered in her mind. She turned towards it just as a second man barreled towards her, his shoulder hitting her in the stomach and knocking the breath out of her. She gasped for air and realized her feet had left the ground. The man had her by the waist, no doubt preparing to throw her against the wall or on the ground.

But her arms were free.

She brought her right arm up and slammed her elbow into his back, just between his shoulder blades.

He grunted, dropping her instantly and stumbling back a step.

"Son of a bitch!" He looked up and started to lunge at her again.

But in the moment it took him to regain his balance, Kate had regained hers as well. She easily spun away from his sloppy lunge and crouched, ready for his next attack.

And he swore again when he finally got a good look at her.

"Goddamn Assassin whore," he growled, taking a wide swing at her.

She thought of Sal when she blocked the Templar's swing with her forearm and countered with a shot to the kidney.

"You bitch," he grunted, swinging again.

This time, she ducked, letting his fist pass above her head harmlessly. And before he had a chance to make another move, she made hers. In one fluid movement, she gripped the front of his collar, the fingers of her right hand wrapping around the knot of his tie, and stepped across him, hooking her right leg behind his left. And she shoved him backwards.

Unable to maintain his balance with her leg pinning his in place, the shove sent him to the ground. As he fell, she released the hidden blade again. Ignoring the sharp pain in her hand as she did, she followed the downward movement of his body and knelt next to him.

His eyes went wide when he saw the hidden blade raised above him.

He barely got out another curse before she jammed the blade into his throat, whatever words were left turning into a gurgle.

As she stood, she heard footsteps. She spun into a crouch, blade ready, only to find herself facing Dutch and Max.

She glanced down at the two bodies next to her then back at them. And relaxed, retracting the hidden blade again.

"That was foolish," Max said. She couldn't see his eyes under his hood, only the grim line of his mouth. And her memory flashed back to the Botanical Gardens in San Diego, when Max had said the exact same thing to her.

She lifted her chin. "Going to tell me I'm meddling in dangerous affairs again?"

He frowned. "No. But I will remind you that revenge does not cure grief."

"This was not revenge."

"What was it?" Max tilted his head slightly.

Kate frowned and looked back at the bodies.

"This one," she gestured to the first man, whose bowler hat was somehow still in place, "was because you agreed it needed to be done." Then she gestured to the larger of the two, "And this one was...instinct." She blinked at the thought.

"And how did he get to you without you noticing?"

"I froze," she answered. "When I saw the blood on my hands, I...I..." She shook her head and looked down at her hands, still bloody. And that's when she noticed the cut, a long thin slice through her palm from the blade. She dropped her hands quickly. As if freezing up wasn't bad enough, she'd forgotten Max's instruction on keeping her hand angled away when releasing the blade.

"C'mon, Maksim," Dutch stepped forward. "You can be her Mentor later. We need to get off the street."

"Dutch is right," Max said with a sharp nod. "Let's get to the Bureau."

Kate looked back down at the two bodies on the sidewalk and the blood now pooling around them. It wasn't until she felt Max's arm loop through hers and gently pull her away that she moved.

"You did well, Katherine," he whispered. "It was still foolish, taking off without us like you did. But you did well."

The front room of the Bureau was empty, but they heard voices coming from the dining room. Kate frowned. It was unusual for everyone to be at breakfast together, let alone so early. But there they were, Charles, Etienne, James and Sal with his shoulder bandaged and in a sling, all sitting around the table.

"Perfect timing," Charles said. "We've got a situation."

"Wait," Sal interrupted. "Kitchen Kate's bleeding again." Then he smirked at her. "Did you shoot another Templar boyfriend?"

Kate opened her mouth to reply, but Dutch beat her to it.

"No," he snorted. "But she stabbed two."

There were a few chuckles around the table, but Charles's was not one of them.

"You're serious?" He asked, cutting off the laughter.

Kate nodded. And held up her hands. "Can I go clean up? Max and Dutch can tell you what happened."

Charles nodded, and she headed for the kitchen.

Kate held her hands under the running water for a long time, watching the blood of the two dead Templars trickle away. She had killed four Templars now. And one had not been in self-defense. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that this is what Assassins do before finally turning the water off.

She was eyeing the shallow cut on her palm, debating how to bandage it with just her left hand, when Etienne showed up in the doorway.

"Who do you want?"

She blinked at him. And he gestured to her hand.

"You'll need help with that."

Looking back at the cut, she sighed and said, "Charles. I want…I want my dad."

She was still staring at her palm when Charles put a warm hand on her shoulder. And she turned to him and wound her arms around his waist. With nothing but a sigh, he returned the embrace.

And Kate let herself stay there for several deep, steadying breaths before pulling away and holding up her hand.

"I have a malfunctioning hidden blade."

"I heard," he chuckled, reaching for the first aid kit.

"So," she arched an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"Ah," Charles sighed. "Vera has gone missing."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Dobroye utro_ = good morning

And thanks for the follows and reviews and messages. I've been struggling with writing the final chapters (it's looking like 36, for Emily and whoever else is wondering), and it's nice to know people are still reading and the effort is worthwhile. :)


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